


Spirit of Competition

by GomorrahHillsides (Within_N_Without)



Series: Autocorrect [5]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Come Eating, Discussion of rape/non-con, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Lip-Biting Experiments, M/M, Miscommunication, Possessive Steve McGarrett, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 12:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13147113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Within_N_Without/pseuds/GomorrahHillsides
Summary: Relationships don't exist in a vacuum. They're influenced by the people you know, knew, and will know. By mutual issues. By the quality of communication, or lack thereof.With the Governor still awkwardly in office, Charlie's Not-Birthday coming up , Steve in Japan, Lori suddenly on the team,  and Wo Fat's phone call to wait for, Danny's sure his two weeks as leader of Five-0 are going to be a piece of cake.Yup, pineapple cake. Why is this his life?





	Spirit of Competition

**Author's Note:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!  
> Although, the timing of this chapter release is accidental. 
> 
> STORY SO FAR...  
> -Danny told Steve about the time travel  
> -Danny let his brother get arrested  
> -Danny and Steve started a relationship  
> -Wo Fat has been captured  
> -Danny made a fake deal with Wo Fat hoping to make the man target him instead of Steve  
> -Danny told Steve about Doris  
> -Governor Jameson's crimes have been uncovered
> 
>  
> 
> NOTES:: (TO MODULATE EXPECTATIONS) 
> 
> \- kind of a fluffier chapter. WHY IS IT THIS LONG?!!!! Unintentional. I actually have no idea how it's the longest of the bunch. It was supposed to be the shortest, since I didn't have much to put here. 
> 
> \- TRIGGER WARNING for discussion of rape? / panic attack caused by memories stemming from Columbia. This part is late in the story (very end). Let me know if this is a weird sequence. It seemed like there was enough to warrant the scene. Feel free to skip since it's not plot-critical
> 
> \- I tried to be fair to the different characters . May or may not have succeeded. Feel free to let me know if it seems like I got things wrong
> 
> ** also, disclaimer. I own nothing **

The atmosphere in Governor Jameson's office is frosty when Danny walks in. 

She watches him enter with calculating eyes, her plastic smile full of teeth. "Detective Williams, please take a seat," she says from behind her desk. 

Uncomfortable, Danny gives a nod, says, "Governor Jameson," by way of greeting and takes the proffered chair. He's not sure why he's been summoned, but the timing is deeply suspicious. 

As the leader of Five-0, Steve hadn't been required to ask for permission to take the two weeks off, but he'd sent out a memo in advance to both the Governor and the Chief of Police stating that he would be out of the country. 

Danny's immediately wondering if maybe Jameson had waited specifically for Steve to be out of the way. But to what end? To dissolve Five-0 without dealing with SuperSEAL? 

That would be a poor choice. 

Disassembling the taskforce responsible for finding the evidence that led to her impeachment and impending trial would make her look a mite guilty. And, then there's also the public outcry to contend with. Despite the craziness Five-0 gets up to, law-abiding citizens love them. 

However, it's the only explanation Danny finds feasible. 

She steeples her hands over a stack of paperwork and asks, "How do you like your job, Detective?" 

Well, that's not promising. 

"I like it just fine, Ma'am. Although, the pay could be better," he says, because it's true and he may as well be honest in what he suspects is his last audience with the governor. 

"Perhaps it would be if so many tax payer dollars weren't already being spent on repaying property damages," she says. 

Danny has no idea where and how state funds are allocated, but it's a struggle not to take a pointed glance around the room. As far as he knows, there's no reason a Governor needs to be living in a Hawaiian mansion on the tax payers' dime. And hey, blaming the budget is a solid excuse for dismantling the taskforce. 

"So, in other words, Five-0 is getting cut?" Danny guesses. 

"No." 

Maybe it's just him, but Danny thinks more of her teeth are showing. 

"Actually, quite the opposite. You see, Detective, setting up the taskforce is one of the best decisions I've made in my time as governor. You couldn't guess how many calls my office gets from other state officials inquiring after recommendations and advice on starting their own versions of Five-0." 

Shifting her hands as if to draw Danny's attention to the document jackets on her desk, she continues, "In fact, those calls prompted me to look into some of the statistics my Analytics Team ran on reports and logs coming out of Five-0. Do you know, Detective, just how many cases the taskforce has handled this year? It's truly an astounding number." 

She taps the stack of paper with a long, manicured nail. "So astounding, that I suspected there could be a mistake in the paperwork, which is why I asked my Aide to review the hours each of you had logged. From the looks of it, Five-0 eats, breathes, and sleeps cases." 

Her eyes sharpen, like she's closing in on the winning move of a chess match. "Would you agree that's an accurate statement?" 

Danny bites his lip, pissed. There's a trap in front of him, but he's not sure what it is. 

When in doubt, go with the truth. 

"Yes, that's accurate." Five-0 regularly works weekends, holidays, late nights – their schedule is ridiculous. He desperately misses Lou and Jerry. Without them, the load can be back-breaking at peak times. 

Jameson nods, having expected Danny's agreement – definitely something to be nervous about. 

Pressing a button on her intercom, Jameson says, " Laura, please send Agent Weston in." 

Wow...fate is apparently a cruel bitch to Lori Weston. 

Even though it's Jameson in the seat of power, she's once again going to be relegated to lapdog. 

The Governor's spy. 

Remembering Steve's reaction to Lori the first time around, Danny's no longer surprised Jameson waited till he was gone to foist a new hire on Five-0. 

Danny stands as Lori walks in. He has mixed feelings about seeing her again. As far as he remembers, she'd been a nice girl. A little bland. Then again, they'd never spent time together. Per Steve's mistrust of the governor's spy, she hadn't been invited to the ohana barbeques, and he hadn't been paired with her often on cases. 

After the few weeks she lasted at Five-0, he never saw her again. 

It also doesn't help that he's biased in a way he wasn't, once upon a time. 

One of the things that stands out in his memories is the way she used to look at Steve. Bright green eyes following his movements in the bull pen. Her frequent offers to go jogging, surfing, biking. The way she'd specifically decided to get dolled up into a transformed Sandy from Grease at the Five-0 offices. 

It hadn't struck him, back then, just how premeditated that must have been. Especially since the apartment she'd been renting was closer to Max's than Five-0. She must have brought in a curling iron to work and then gotten ready in the public restroom on their floor, all to ensure that Steve would see her in those tight leather pants and ridiculously high heels. 

The truly unfortunate part is that Danny's going to have to watch it again. 

He and Steve decided they didn't want Jameson knowing about their relationship. Which means keeping it from Lori, who will therefore have no reason not to flirt with Steve. 

And Steve, the obsessive, suspicious, strategic Navy Intelligence freak, will probably flirt back and take her up on the exercise challenges, all in hopes of lowering her defenses. Because she might know something useful. Because she might lie for them. Because, because, because... 

Danny purposely doesn't let himself think about the possibilities in this altered timeline. Refuses to go down the alley in his mind that starts with Lori staying longer, becoming part of the team. 

Spend enough time with somebody and maybe that flirting stops being pretend. 

Lori comes to a stop beside Danny. 

"Detective Daniel Williams, this is Agent Lori Weston from Homeland Security. Lori has a background in profiling and all her colleagues describe her as level-headed and exceptionally competent both in the field and in an interrogation room." 

As they shake hands, the Governor, apparently for the first time, tells Lori, "You're going to be helping lighten Five-0's workload." 

Lori's face freezes. "I'm sorry, Governor, but I think there may have been a miscommunication? I was told this appointment was for public safety liaison." 

"It is. You will be the liaison between Five-0 and the public, as well as between Five-0 and this office. I am hopeful that, with your influence, perhaps cooler heads will prevail and we'll have fewer damage claims filtering in." 

Well, Danny feels better. At least it's not just him getting the plastic shark smile today. 

"I really do appreciate you thinking of me for this position, Governor, but – " 

"That is all," Jameson dismisses, already picking up the receiver on her office phone. 

Lori looks dumbfounded. 

Danny has to nudge her shoulder to get her moving towards the door. 

 

 

When Danny walks into the bullpen, Kono's got her cellphone up to her ear. 

A second later, Danny's phone plays her ringtone. 

"Ah." She hangs up. "We've got a case," she says, but her eyes are focused over his shoulder. 

Danny waves at Lori behind him and makes the introductions. 

The welcome she receives from Chin and Kono is very...polite. It makes all the difference that, this time, it's not a new, well-meaning governor tossing her onto the team in hopes of specifically reigning in Steve's crazy. This time around, there's suspicion instead of amusement. 

It makes Danny sympathetic enough that he pairs with her instead of Kono after they've visited the crime scene and divvied up the first batch of people to hunt down and interview. 

He regrets his sympathy not long after. 

"So, what's Commander McGarrett like? You know, to work with?" She asks, as they get into the Camero. 

It's a valid question, since the man's reputation for wild stunts precedes him. However, Danny's a little less inclined to answer when he sees her expression as she's staring at her phone. When she tilts it to zoom in closer, it's Steve's profile picture eating up screen space. 

"The guy's a maniac. First day on the job? He got me shot." 

And from there, Danny happily recounts The Steve SuperSEAL McGarrett Greatest Hits, which include questionable intimidation tactics, crazy stunts, wanton destruction of property (doors, in particular), and misuse of firearms and explosives. 

"Working with him definitely gets you thinking on a regular – if not daily – basis about your own mortality," Danny finishes. 

"Wow, he sounds like a nightmare," Lori says, glancing at Steve's photo again, a little less infatuated. 

Danny hates to ruin the effect of his rant, but it's Steve. As much as he enjoys shocking people with Steve's antics and getting them to commiserate over the trials he's been put through as Steve's partner, he doesn't actually want anyone thinking ill of him. Despite the trouble he causes, Steve deserves respect and, frankly, admiration. 

"A nightmare? Nah, I think it's more that he's a very...polarizing personality. Everything's... extreme with him. He won't just try to get the job done; he will get the job done, by any means necessary. Usually at his own expense, taking the lion's share of the risk and using his 'I'm a SEAL' excuse to justify it. And it's not just at work. He's like that with everything. 

"Morning exercise can't be a jog; it's got to be a boot camp style regimen of torture. He can't just have your back and be supportive; he has to go in and fix the situation. Everything with him has to be zero to sixty – all grand gestures. Like, he's too cheap to spring for beer or to buy a round when the team goes out, but he got the governor to put pressure on my ex-wife's husband so that they wouldn't move away again and force me to uproot my life. And that first case, where he got me shot? His initial, verbal apology was half-assed and kind of patronizing, but then he springs for a weekend stay at a hotel for me and my daughter so she can swim with the dolphins. I mean, who does that? For a near-stranger? 

"Anyways, I guess my point is, yes, a job with Five-0 can be harrowing and he's probably the biggest factor in that. But, he's a good, honorable man who does great and impossible things. Even if his methods are unorthodox. 

"Working on this team will probably seem like the worst form of punishment at times, and you'll find yourself in the direct line of fire with relative frequency, but 90 – no, because we get shot at a lot so I guess it's more like 80 – percent of the time, it's the greatest privilege." 

"Huh." Lori flops against the seat, turned so that she can better stare at Danny. 

"What? What does that 'huh' mean?" But her tone implies what he already knows. He should've avoided talking about Steve. It's his favorite topic. He could go on for days about the man. Which is incredibly revealing. He doesn't need her to tell him that he's shown his hand. 

"You know, when you started off, you were so gleeful, telling me all of the Commander's most damning exploits. I thought for sure that you were glad he's gone, that you get to be in charge for a while. But that speech...you must really...care for him," she says carefully, green eyes like lasers trying to scan him for tells. 

Fuck, he can hear the 'you sound like you're in love with him,' she wants to say instead. 

But, Danny feigns mild surprise and tells her, "He's my best friend, a second uncle to my daughter, and one of the few reasons I'm content to make my home on this hot, sandy, humid, pineapple-infested chunk of rock in the middle of the ocean." 

Lori doesn't comment, but she's definitely read more than friendship and family in his rant. . 

It just highlights that, if they're going to keep their relationship off Jameson's radar, Steve's probably going to need to nip her suspicions in the bud with flirting. And Danny will get to look like he's pining after his straight best friend. 

He's trying to think of some other convincing narrative they could spin, when Lori asks, "So, is Commander McGarrett on vacation?" 

Reflexively, Danny stretches his hand on the wheel, still unused to the pressure of the wand-shaped rice grain of a GPS implant that Joe injected into the V between his thumb and pointer fingers. "He's away till the end of the week," Danny says vaguely. 

It's an odd thought that he could bring up an app on his phone and see exactly where Steve is right now. Get an exact measure on how far away he is. It's a temptation he resists daily. 

She's caught the hand gesture. There's confusion on her face as she tries to analyze what it means. Obviously drawing a blank, she makes to ask outright, when Danny pulls up to a huge, Hawaiian beach house. 

"We're here," he says, practically launching out of the car. Thank Christ for that. 

 

 

Danny's actually starting to believe in Fate. 

Just a little bit. 

Because coincidence can only stretch so far. 

It's the first time in over a week that he's back at his ratty apartment. It's still technically his until the end of the month. (Steve 'convinced' the land lord of the apartment complex to let him out of his lease early.) And the only reason he's here is so that he can wallow in a confined space that he'll never have to see again after tonight. 

It's Charlie's birthday. 

It had been a struggle to get up in the morning. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, buried in memories. Of Charlie on his little racecar bed making engine noises while Steve cheered him on, commentating races that Charlie always won. Of Charlie in a little inflatable ring getting towed around by SuperSEAL as he did laps in the ocean, Danny for once swimming right beside them. Of Charlie demanding to try all the flavors of shaved ice at Kamekona's food truck and then renaming the flavors based on things the taste reminded him of. From that day on, Mint Sea-Salt Pistachio was changed to Spicy Ocean on Kamekona's menu board. 

He'd gone to work just to stop thinking about how, in just a year, Charlie's supposed to be born. But even a gunfight on a highway overpass and a long interrogation weren't enough to keep the devastating thought at bay. 

Which is why he's here tonight, a bottle of heavy-hitting booze in the kitchen, waiting to be consumed. He needs to get wasted, drink his feelings away because, right now, they're barbed wire threaded over his heart and shrapnel in his lungs. 

But, as fate would have it, Rachel's at his door. She's perfectly coiffed and as beautiful as always, her expression soft as she takes him in, even though she's picking at the hem of her sleeve. 

As soon as she sees him notice the nervous tell, the picking stops. 

"Hello, Daniel." 

He's definitely surprised. Enough that there's an awkward moment as they stand, silently in the doorway. Why today of all days? 

Looking less sure of herself, Rachel shifts from heel to heel, her skirt swinging like a bell. It's what finally snaps Danny back to reality. 

Holding the door open, he says, "Hey, Rachel." 

"How has your brother been?" Rachel asks, taking a delicate seat on his ratty pullout couch. 

"He's a Wallstreet boy. It took a few weeks, but he finally convinced one of his friends to pay his astronomical bail and now he's home on my parent's couch, awaiting trial. A different friend is loaning him money for a snazzy lawyer, so who knows? He might get off. Which, honestly, makes me kind of angry," Danny says, his mind going immediately to Jameson. "It's like we have a two-tiered justice system in this country. I love my brother, and I wouldn't wish the American prison system on him. But there's something wrong when Wallstreet crooks and corrupt politicians get tax cuts while poor kids go to jail for smoking marijuana." 

She hums and gracefully doesn't point out that she's heard him voice his opinion on the American criminal justice system dozens of times throughout their marriage, letting him rant for a good five minutes. 

Except, Danny doesn't rant just to reiterate points to people who have heard them before. Although he's concerned about the system and is always willing to share with people who haven't heard his thoughts on the matter, he is also aware that you can't change someone's mind by bludgeoning them with the facts over and over again. 

This speech he knows by heart, having given it so many times before. So, he's free to dedicate brain power to noticing things. 

Like, the way Rachel's once again picking at the hem of her skirt. Nervous. 

And the way she keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs. Uncomfortable. 

And the way her eyes drift towards the ceiling. As if remembering something. 

And the way her mouth silently moves. As if she's rehearsing her own speech. 

She wants something from him. 

Something she really cares about. 

Something she's worried he'll say no to. 

By the time he's done explaining how America should model its prisons after those in Scandanavian countries, she's wringing her hands. 

"Anyways, what am I doing talking your ear off? What brings you by this balmy evening?" 

"I know in the past that we have had significant disagreements on what would be best for Grace, but despite our differences of opinion, I never, not for a moment, doubted whether you had her best interests at heart. Time and again, you have shown yourself to be an exceptional father – caring and gentle and supportive." 

Danny feels his heartbeat pick up, a thread of panic seeping into his skin. It's a struggle to keep listening, his mind already filling in the blanks with: 

We're moving to L.A. 

Or, Stanley and I agree that Grace would be better served with a European education, and it will give Stanley the opportunity to expand internationally. We're moving to England. 

With Jameson no longer on Five-0's side, he won't be able to stop her. 

He's so prepared to have his life upended that the first time he hears her, the words don't compute. "I'm sorry, say again?" He asks, shaking his head. 

Shooting him a peculiar look, she says slowly, "Stan and I were hoping you would consider donating reproductive material so that we could expand our family without involving a stranger." 

"You want me to be the sperm donor," Danny simplifies. 

"Yes, Daniel." 

"Stan's infertile?" Danny asks, surprised. 

"Must you be so crass?" 

But Danny's lost in thought, peeking into a dark alley of memories from over a decade ago. Had Charlie been a happy accident or the product of Rachel's machinations? 

But that's crazy, right? 

She'd been willing to move back to Jersey with him. She'd gone so far as to wait for him...a few weeks – the same length as some of her family holidays. It suddenly bothers Danny that he'd never known Stan's side of things. The man had taken her back immediately. 

Or maybe, she'd told Stan she was taking Grace to see her paternal grandparents. Maybe she'd never intended to stay with Danny in the first place. And, without running a paternity test, she'd known the baby was his. He'd taken everything at face value back then. 

Her marriage troubles. 

The paternity of the kid. 

The plan to go back East. 

Fuck, but Danny's not sure what to think. 

Not that any of it matters in the here and now, when Charlie's existence is on the line. 

"Well, Daniel?" She prompts. "What are your thoughts?" 

"Would I be able to see him? Like I see Grace?" Danny asks. Because he wants. He wants so desperately. His answer is yes, no matter what. But fuck, those three years he missed the first time? He could undo them. Be around to see his baby boy go from sitting up, to crawling, to wobbling on tiny feet, to running through the playground. Hear him go from babbling and cooing to coherence. See him grow out of tiny, toy-looking shoes into proper sneakers. 

He aches to be there. 

Once again, he's at Rachel's mercy. 

Unfortunately, she looks hesitant. Her lips purse as she thinks about it. Whole minutes pass and Danny's sweating bullets in the hot apartment, yet there's shivers running through him. He's a nervous wreck. 

"I'll have my solicitor draw up an agreement," she says finally, standing from the pullout couch. "Although, fair warning, there will be provisions. One of them being that you'll have a proper residence by that time." 

"Of course, no problem," he says, walking her out the door and to her car. 

When she's gone, down the road and out of sight, Danny jumps around, whooping like a maniac, too happy to contain it. 

 

 

The weekend arrives and Danny couldn't be happier. 

One, because it's a Grace weekend and how could he be anything but happy to spend time with his monkey? 

And two, because he's standing on the tarmac, waiting at a distance from a line-up of landed planes for Steve to disembark. 

Yes, they'd talked every day. 

But, to some degree, Danny almost feels like it made him miss Steve more. Hearing Steve's voice every day without being able to see him, without being close enough to squeeze his shoulder or give him a hug, was a very particular kind of painful. Especially given the main focus of most of their conversations. 

Usually Steve would call after his dinner in the early evening from Japan to update Danny on how his mission to bond with his mother was going. For the most part, he'd start his calls with a sigh and some variation of "Are you sure this is necessary? I mean, she's agreed to come back with me," and "I'm not sure Doris playing tour guide and showing me the awesomeness of Japan is making us closer. Her indigent knowledge of the area just reminds me that she's been here for two decades." 

On the surface, Steve's voice would try for a petulant tone, but Danny could hear the layer beneath it – the lost quality in it. The torn way he'd describe some of their outings, where he'd partially sound impressed of Doris's her smooth savoir faire, both about her local environment and the details and tips she shared with him about field work, and partially, he'd sound devastated, still 100% thinking about how his father had spent years chasing Shelburne, looking for his wife's murderer. 

Leaving Steve and Mary to finish their formative years sans parents. 

For Danny, Steve's calls would come in just before he went to bed. Some nights he'd have trouble falling asleep, too busy thinking of other suggestions and worrying over whether he was right in pushing Steve to get to know Doris. Especially in an isolated setting, where it was just the two of them, removed from daily life, from Five-0 calls, from friends and acquaintances. 

But Steve had ridden out the full two weeks. 

As the aircraft door slowly descends downwards to form a staircase, Steve's huge frame fills the doorway. But fuck, when he spots Danny, all of him lights up. Slumped shoulders are suddenly straighter, tired, squinty eyes widen, and his smile is beatific. 

For someone, unrelated by blood, to look at him like that? To be so obviously pleased to see him? For Steve to look at him that way? 

Embarrassingly enough, Danny has to blink away tears, his own smile growing to match. Now that Steve's here, just a short sprint away from Danny, it's easier to admit how lonely he'd been without him. Especially waking up on Steve's couch in the mornings. 

Fuck, but every day, he'd had to check his calendar, heart beating wild in his chest, because it doesn't matter how many months pass. Time travel is fucking impossible. A corner of his mind wonders if, in real life, he's in a coma, dreaming all of this. Or maybe he's in a padded room, locked in a straightjacket, rocking back and forth and whispering Steve's name as all this plays out in his head. Or maybe, when he wakes up this time, he'll be back in 2023, this house in his name, with Steve's mortal presence permanently erased from the earth. 

But the calendar app on his phone, with the year typed in the margin, puts him at ease. 

Praise be, it's 2011, midway to 2012. 

Two of the other planes – one bigger, military looking, the other smaller, just an island-hopper – also open up for their occupants. 

Danny doesn't really notice. Doesn't think to care. He's only here for Steve, who's impatiently waiting at the bottom of the staircase for Doris to descend. 

She gets out, military-style duffel bag in-hand. Maybe it's because he knows her background, but she walks like an agent. The impression he gets is that she's athletic, aware of her surroundings, and exceptionally confident in her place in the world. 

When they reach Danny, Steve looks okay. A little under-slept, maybe a little thinner, but not as angry as he was the first time around. 

"Danny, this is Doris McGarrett...my mother," he introduces, using the title grudgingly. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Danny," Doris says, offering her hand. "Do you work with Steve?" 

As he shakes her hand, Danny cocks an eyebrow at his partner. You didn't tell her? 

Steve winces and shrugs, scuffing his shoe against ground. Big, tough Navy SEAL suddenly looks like a kid who's getting called out for being petulant. 

Danny suddenly has a better sense of just what those two weeks of 'bonding' were like. Steve interrogating his mother and offering crumbs about the past 20 years of his life, with each small detail probably coming out like pulled teeth. It makes him want to slap Steve upside the head and call him a moron. 

"Yes, I'm his partner at Five – " 

"Steve!" Someone shouts. Running footsteps pound against the tarmac. A brown and green blur that Steve turns to face right before she's in his arms, hugging the life out of him. "I missed you, sailor," Catherine says just before she stands on her tip-toes, one hand hooking around Steve's neck to pull him closer, into a kiss. 

Steve started out frozen. Now he's rigid. His body language changes drastically in just a few seconds, hands moving from where they'd caught Catherine to her shoulders, like he's preparing to push her away with enough force to pry her hold on him. The muscles in his arms flex in preparation. 

But the kiss is short – a quick, appropriate-for-the-public homecoming smooch. She's stepping out of his arms before he can get around to making her. 

Huh, so Cath doesn't know. 

Danny's not sure what that means, if anything. He's always been a little confused about Steve and Cath's relationship. On the one hand they're friends, on the other, Steve keeps her separate from the rest of his ohana. 

Has always kept her separate. 

Danny has no idea how well Steve knows her. Now and back then. Some things he was only ever able to guess at from Steve's actions and reactions. 

Like when Steve had to be told that a drive-in breakfast at Rainbow was not what Catherine wanted for a romantic date. 

Or when he was surprised at Catherine keeping secrets for Doris. 

Or his surprise when she left. 

Danny hadn't seen it coming, because he didn't really know the woman. Which was also kind of strange. 

Steve, who loved the idea of ohana, who regularly gathered his extended family around him for large get-togethers, who wanted them to all know and love each other, hadn't tried to exert his usual level of control over the situation by pushing and prodding people to hang out together. 

He'd done it for Danny. 

Pushed him to take surfing lessons from Kono, when he easily could have been the one to teach him. Got him talking to Chin about motorcycles and Kamekona about his Ma's recipes. Steve had always tried to make sure his friends were all each other's friends, too. Helping them discover commonalities and connect in ways they wouldn't have tried for on their own. 

It had been one of the reasons it had felt like the foundation was sinking beneath Danny when Steve had died. Everything he'd ever had in Hawaii had, in one way or another, been tied to the effort Steve had made to integrate him. Turn him native. 

When Cath had joined the team, he hadn't taken the same level of effort to weave her into the Five-0 tapestry. Fuck, but Danny can't even remember if he's supposed to act like he knows her or if he's meeting her for the first time. 

He remembers, early on, a case where they'd caught a guy slipping Rohypnol into girls' drinks. Part of a sex trafficking scheme. They'd found him at a club. Girls had been eyeing Steve and he hadn't reacted, because Cath was around. Danny doesn't remember meeting her then. But maybe not long after? Fuck, he has no clue. 

As Doris and Cath exchange introductions, he looks to Steve, hoping to get an answer, only to find a fierce expression on his face. It's the kind of face he makes before he does something colossally stupid that only he would be crazy enough to consider necessary. Like diving off a cliff in pursuit of a suspect or tackling a jumper off a hotel rooftop in the hopes of landing on the balcony below. 

In other words, he looks about ready to stalk over to Danny and make it very clear to Cath, Doris, and anyone else on the tarmac that he's involved with his haole partner. 

Shaking his head quickly, Danny glares at Steve. 

Yes, DADT no longer exists, but that doesn't change attitudes. There's still plenty of risks with coming out in the military. Cath is not the only Navy officer wandering around the tarmac. And, his eyes slip to Cath. She'd been such a big part of Steve's life. He doesn't know what they are to each other now, but given the embrace she just gave Steve, they're probably close enough that she deserves a conversation. A softer dissolution of the friends-with-benefits arrangement than the one Steve's contemplating. 

Their silent exchange doesn't go unnoticed by the deactivated C.I.A. agent and the Navy Intelligence Officer. 

"Something you boys want to tell us?" Doris asks. 

Danny's human. Prone to mistakes, just like any other homo sapien. So, he tries to divert focus by saying, "Hey Catherine, great to see you again. How – " 

Steve's making big, warning eyes at him in the background. 

" – was your trip?" 

Oops. 

Catherine's confusion is clear as day. 

And, fuck, but he knows his tone slipped, obvious in its insincerity. Because he would've gladly gone a lifetime without seeing her again. 

"Uh...I'm sorry, have we met?" 

"Oh, um...no. But Steve's mentioned you so it almost seems like I know you." 

Steve cringes and Danny's not sure why until Cath responds with, "Wow. He must've only told you about our worst arguments." 

Fuck, he'd been that obvious? 

"Steve? Nah, everything he told me was complimentary. I'm just...a bit abrasive by nature. Anyways," Danny's desperate for a quick change of subject, so he offers, "you need a ride someplace? Or is this just a stopover?" 

"Uh, sure, that would be great..." She extends her hand, waiting for his name. 

"Danny," he offers, meeting her handshake. "My car's this way if you guys want to follow me." 

Steve tries to slide in beside him, probably to demand why Danny's asking him to wait on outing their relationship, but Doris catches his arm and threads hers around it. 

"Steve didn't tell me he had a girlfriend," she says to Cath, who's on the other side of Steve. Which leaves Danny walking awkwardly in front of them all like the chauffer. 

She's not my girlfriend," Steve says. Then, "Danno, wait up. You're walking too fast." 

Except, he's moving at the same pace as the rest of the group. It's not like he's outpacing the long-legged McGarretts and Cath the military marching machine. There's not even all that much distance between them. An arm's-length at best. Turning about-face, he pauses more out of confusion than at the command. 

In two strides, the rest of the party's on par with him. Steve spins him and tucks Danny beneath his arm. "Where'd you park?" 

As Danny points towards the back row in the parking lot, Cath explains to a still inquisitive Doris, "We're just friends." 

"Friends who kiss?" 

Cath just smiles, easily. No blushing involved as she confirms, "Friends who kiss." 

Because Danny's basically plastered to Steve's side, he feels the man tense, ready to add to that. Probably something along the lines of 'friends who won't be kissing anymore'. He pinches Steve's side discreetly to prevent it. 

Glancing down at him, Steve cocks an eyebrow, annoyed. Why do you keep stopping me? 

Danny would answer, but he doesn't think a facial expression would be enough to give Steve a clue. 

Steve makes the face he usually has on when he's proving a point. The point being proved is to Danny this time. He knows because Steve squeezes his shoulder hard enough to get him to look up, meet his eyes. Then, gaze still locked with Danny's, he asks, "So, Cath, how long you stayin'?" 

"I've got two days till my next assignment," she says over the beep of the Camero as Danny unlocks it. 

Doris derails whatever point Steve was hoping to get across to Danny when she asks Cath for details about her job with the Navy as both of them drop duffel bags into the trunk. 

Walking over to the driver's side, Steve looks frustrated. 

With a sigh, Danny tosses his keys over the roof of the car and then lifts the front seat to get in the back. Doris climbs in beside him. 

"I thought you drove a truck," Cath comments as she takes shotgun. 

"This isn't his car, but apparently SuperSEAL gets motion sickness when he's forced to sit passenger-side," Danny explains. "Although, personally, I think he just has control issues." 

"I don't have control issues, Danny. And it's car sickness, not motion sickness." 

"Look, buddy, if anyone should be car sick, it's me when you're behind the wheel. You drive like a maniac! Sharp turns, abrupt stops, lane weaving, non-adherence to posted speed limits, traffic lights, or any other rules of the road – " 

"Then, if it's your car, why do you let him drive?" Doris asks. 

Danny mumbles, "I don't want him vomiting on the upholstery." Not that he believes Steve's excuse for a minute. It's just, he can't say, 'It's such a small thing, but it makes Steve feel more settled, more relaxed, to be behind the wheel. It's the thing you do for someone you love.' 

"I'd say he played you," Cath chimes in. "He's ridden in my car with me plenty of times and he's never been sick. Even did a cross country road trip once and – " 

Probably worried Danny will start demanding to drive more – as if Danny's not been conditioned after over a decade to hand over his keys – Steve interrupts. "So, Cath, which hotel am I dropping you off at?" 

"Well, since I'm only here for the weekend, I thought I'd stay with you," she says, her voice dropping into a sultrier register towards the end. 

Steve looks up then, meeting Danny's eyes in the rearview mirror, a sort of See? This is why I wanted to make things clear at the airport in his gaze. 

"Normally, you know I'd be glad to have you Cath, but it's sort of a full house at my place right now." 

"Mary's home?" Doris asks, equal parts hopeful and nervous. 

"No." Meeting Danny's eyes in the mirror again, Steve cocks an eyebrow, awaiting permission to reveal their relationship. 

"The two of us hardly make a full house Steven," Doris says, "There's plenty of room for Catherine. Unless, someone else is staying with you?" Because she's not stupid, her eyes slide to Danny. Likely having picked up on the signs that no longer feel like signs for him and Steve because they're so normal. 

The arm over the shoulder. 

The silent conversations. 

The car situation. 

Danny coughs into his fist. 

Because they're stopped at a light, Steve's definitely glaring hard at him in that mirror. "Um...given the current economic climate, I've been couch-surfing at Steve's for a while." It's an effort not to cringe. Technically, it's the truth. "And, since I'm at his place, whenever I have Grace, she sleeps in Mary's old room. Which, would just so happen to be this weekend." 

Practically thrumming in his seat, Steve's about at that point where he overrides Danny. About to blurt out that they're together and tell Catherine she should start dialing to reserve a room at a hotel. 

There's only so much Danny can convey with expressions, so he scrunches his eyebrows at Steve in the mirror. 

Wait. 

And with his goofy thumbs fighting him all the way, he slowly types out 'You shuld hav a cinversstion with her frrst ITs callled being civil' and hits send. It's almost Neanderthal speak, so he figures Steve will be able to parse it. 

Of course, the light turns green, which means Steve has to wait till the next light to read it. Audibly sighing, Steve takes out his frustration on the gas pedal and the wheel. Which also means they power through a bevy of yellow lights with Steve's frustration mounting. 

"Well, I don't mind a full house," Catherine says, luminescent brown eyes sliding to Steve, her smile just a bit too Come Hither for polite company. 

"I really think a hotel room would be better. You deserve some peace and quiet, some relaxation, if you've only got two days. All things which are not possible when you're sharing a house with Danny Williams." 

"Hey, I make a great houseguest! You're just an argumentative, rule-setting host!" 

"See what I mean?" Steve says to Catherine, before finding Danny in the mirror. "And you're not a houseguest, Danno." 

Shit. 

His stuff is all over Steve's house. 

Pictures of Grace at various stages of her childhood thus far. 

His clothes mixed in with Steve's laundry, in drawers, and closets. 

His toiletries in the master bathroom. 

His shoes arranged on the shoe rack. 

His food stocking the fridge. 

Grace has basically turned Mary's bedroom into an extension of her bedroom at Rachel's. It's already half-decorated to her specifications, which likely Doris will recognize. 

He hadn't owned much and most of it had still been in boxes, so moving had been as effortless as it could ever be. Steve, Chin, and Kono had made it happen in less than an afternoon, right before Steve had left for his trip. 

Altogether, it's enough evidence to make it obvious he's not just temporarily living with Steve. Which means this weekend is probably going to be full of revelations. 

Starting with Doris and Catherine. 

Maybe ending with Grace. Because, though she gets that Danny's moved in with Steve, he's not sure if she understands the man's closer to a Step-Steve than an Uncle Steve at this point. 

Cath starts to say, "I'm okay with a little mayhem. I don't need –" 

"They've got spa treatments and manicures and yoga sessions. I bet it's been ages since you've treated yourself," Steve cajoles, smile bordering on flirtatious. To his credit, he sounds genuinely caring. Not at all like he's trying to shunt her off on a resort. 

And Catherine responds to that caring. Grin softening, she says, "That sounds like a great idea." 

As Catherine calls a hotel, they finally reach a stretch of traffic Steve can't maniacally weave through. He slides to a stop, almost on top of the bumper of the car in front of them, and immediately whips out his phone. 

Catherine hadn't seen Danny texting earlier and the silent exchange in the mirror, nor had she heard the buzz of Steve's phone in his pocket. 

However, Doris had been privy to it all. And she's definitely reading into it. 

"So, how long have you been couch-surfing?" Doris asks with faux innocence. 

Small mercy that it is, Danny's phone happens to start playing a refrain from Depeche Mode's Precious at that moment. It's one of the most forgiving ringtones he's had for Rachel in a long time. 

Of course, Steve immediately knows it's new. His head snaps up, frame straightening, on alert. 

And because the reaction is so dramatic, Doris and Cath are also curious. 

"Hey, Rachel, what's up?" 

"Hello, Danny. An appointment of mine has been rescheduled short notice. I have an hour before I need to meet with a client. Rather than calling the au pair, I thought perhaps you'd prefer I drop her off early." 

"Sure, of course I'd prefer. I'll text you the address." 

"You've moved again? Because of our discussion?" 

"No, it was already in the works. See you in a few, yeah?" 

As soon as Danny's off the phone, Steve's asking, "What was that about?" 

"She's dropping Grace off early. Like, now." He can read just how much Steve wants to ask about the ringtone. Thankfully, he doesn't bring it up in front of their audience. 

 

 

By the time they get to the house, Rachel's already there, wearing a perplexed expression as Grace is likely filling her in on whose house they're standing in front of. She only looks more confused when she sees Steve get out from the behind the wheel of Danny's car, while Danny climbs out of the backseat. 

As Steve helps his mother and Cath with their duffel bags – probably so he'll have a reason to stay within earshot – Danny walks over to greet her and his baby girl. 

"Danno!" Grace runs to him, arms already stretched wide to embrace him. 

He leans down, catching her in his arms and spinning her in a circle. "How's my little monkey?" He asks, trying not to groan at his protesting knee. Grace is getting a little heavy at nine, but he holds her on his hip anyways. Fuck his knee. If Grace isn't too grown-up for this, then he can take it. All too soon, she'll consider this whole scene embarrassing. 

Rachel is watching him with a tender warmth in her eyes, but her eyes light on the people behind him. After the pleasantries, she asks, with significant surprise, "You're living with Commander McGarrett? Your boss?" 

"Ah..." 

Right. 

Boss. 

It's weird to think of Steve like that. Steve's so many other things to him that the title is kind of a misnomer. And a lot of the typical boss-like activities – firing, promoting, giving raises – are more the governor's jurisdiction than Steve's. He can offer his input, but it's like with the requisitions and budgets. The governor signs off on it. That just leaves vacations, which Five-0 generally only takes on holidays and special occasions. 

"He's my best friend, first and foremost," Danny says, since it's the truth. And Cath is still on the front lawn, caught up in conversation with Doris, yet within earshot. 

"Are you going to be living here long-term?" 

"This is a new arrangement, so I'm thinking it's better to focus on the short-term for now," Danny hedges. 

Her eyes are narrowed, but Grace is suddenly wiggling in Danny's arms. "Danno, can I go say hi to Uncle Steve now?" 

"Sure, monkey," he says, setting her down gently. She runs off to throw herself at Steve this time, completely sure that he'll catch her just like Danny did. Big, tough, ninja SuperSEAL grins the goofiest grin and envelopes her in his overlong, musclebound arms. 

And, seeing that seems to erase all of Rachel's questions, raze all her doubts. "I see." And Danny gets the sneaking suspicion that his face is entirely too openly adoring right now. She grins as he tries to hide it under a mask of nonchalance. 

"Well, I'm glad to see you're starting to settle, Danny. It's a happy sight. And this looks like a marvelous place. I would feel secure leaving the baby here." 

"Speaking of, have you set an appointment yet?" 

"No, I wanted to get your schedule first. As soon as you send it to me, I'll call my OB/GYN." 

"First thing Monday, I'll get it to you," Danny promises. 

Before Rachel leaves, she steps into Danny's space and pulls him into a hug, squeezing tight. "Good lord, we're going to have a baby!" She whispers, resting her head on his shoulder. "Thank you again, Danny. It means the world." 

Danny squeezes back, eyes filling a little at the thought of Charlie. Fuck, but so many of the clawing feelings that have been racking him on and off for the past few months have utterly disappeared. "It means a lot to me too, Rachel. Thank you for letting me be a part of the baby's life." Because, it's official. They'd met with the lawyers just yesterday. 

With a final, mutual squeeze, they separate. 

Danny watches Rachel get in her car before he comes back to awareness of his other surroundings. Steve's got Grace safely ensconced in his arms. He's nodding with convincing interest to her recent Tommy-instigated drama, but his eyes are trained on Danny. He's putting on a happy face for Grace's sake, but It's obvious he doesn't like how today's been progressing. 

Thankfully, Doris and Cath have made it into the house. 

Now that Danny's free, Steve nods at the house before leading the way in. It's clear that he wants to talk to Danny now, not later. 

Danny walks in just in time to hear Steve finishing introductions between Grace and the two women. "Danny and I will be right back," he tells Grace, "but I've got a mission for you in the meantime. Grandma Doris and my friend Cath both know a lot of embarrassing stories about me. I want you to interrogate them for their best stories. And when we get back, I'll let you share them with Danno." 

Surprised faces all around. 

All except for Grace, who looks positively gleeful. 

Before Danny can ask if the guy's got a concussion, or any other mind-altering injury, Steve says, "Come on, Danny," and proceeds to corral him into the laundry room, closing the door behind them. 

The tight space, especially with SuperSEAL taking up so much real-estate, briefly makes Danny uncomfortable, but he swallows it, shifting focus to the intense stare being leveled at him. 

That there's space between them right now, in the first moment they've been alone together, speaks volumes. 

"What's going on, Danny?" Steve asks, voice surprisingly hoarse, eyes troubled. "First, you don't let me set the record straight with Cath, then you tell Rachel you're thinking about this move in the short-term. Then the ringtone, that cozy hug, and...did I hear you mention a baby? I mean, I was gone for two weeks. We talked every day. So, what the hell?" 

"Slow down, babe. Take a deep breath. Relax. You're right, it was two weeks. I wanted you to focus on repairing your relationship with your mother, so I kept my side of the conversations brief outside of offering you my two cents on Doris-wrangling. But, you're here now and I'm going to get you all caught up, ok?" 

"It's not fair, Danny," he says, still on some harsh wavelength. "You can't do this to me. Fuck, you can't just switch sides when I'm not here to fight my corner." 

"Um...what are you talking about?" 

"You can't leave me for Rachel without giving me a chance to make my case." 

"Whoa!" Danny knifes a hand through the air in denial. "Babe, I am not leaving you. Especially not for Rachel. Yes, I'm feeling partial towards her recently, but that's it." 

"Partial why?" 

Danny can't suppress her grin. "Turns out, Stan's got infertility problems. So, she approached me about being the sperm donor. She also agreed to give me visitation. I signed the official papers yesterday. Fuck, Steve, this is how Charlie gets born! I'm so goddamn relieved, you have no idea." 

His grin dims a little, though, as he refocuses on Steve. "I'm sorry, babe. Normally, a decision like this I wouldn't have made alone. Taking care of a newborn, even if it's just a few days out of a month, isn't something you signed up for. And I could understand –" 

Apparently, Charlie explains everything, because Steve's doubts are replaced by a blinding smile. A smile Danny can feel as Steve pulls him in, one arm around his waist, the other resting along his spine as Steve cups the back of his head, steering him into a searing kiss. 

Fuck, they've been apart too long. 

Their jubilation quickly gains too much heat. 

Steve licks into his mouth and for a moment they're both gone. Neither of them notice or care that the door rattles tellingly when Steve spins them so Danny's the one with his back against the door and presses him into it. 

In fact, Danny's so checked out, he's surprised to realize a minute later that his legs are clear off the ground and loosely hugging Steve's hips while he holds him up, fingers digging into his thighs. He tries to voice a complaint but Steve sucks the breath out of his mouth before replacing it with his own. He tastes like tea, rosemary, and something distinctly Steve. 

When Danny goes to taste more, Steve changes angles and they end up deep in each other. A sharp, electric pulse of arousal sends shivers through his whole frame before pulling a whimper out of his mouth. And, fuck, but they need to stop. 

"No, Steve, we can't –" 

"Don't worry, Danno, I'm not fucking you in the laundry room when Gracie's out there waiting for us. I just...god, I missed you Danny." He nuzzles the cradle of his collarbone. 

"I missed you too, babe, but we need to stop now and play the rest of this reunion in PG until Grace goes to sleep." 

Steve butts his head against Danny's chest, since Danny's propped a helluva lot higher than usual. "So many hours," he groans, hands flexing on Danny's thighs. "Fuck, you're like an addiction. You've got no idea how hard it was to focus. When there's not a life and death situation for me to deal with, you wouldn't believe how preoccupied I get with thinking about you and Grace. 

"And now, god Danny, I'm going to get to see you be a father from the start. Maybe this is weird, but I love seeing you with her. There's nothing you won't do for her. Play with dolls, dress up, paint your nails, any girlish desire she has and you're there to make her smile. When she causes trouble or tries to play you, you're strict, but you talk her through it. You make an effort to understand her feelings and get at the core of what's making her act out. And when she's scared, you've got hugs and calm words, even though I know how much you personally struggle with anxiety –" 

Danny cringes. "Ah, you know about that?" 

There's not an inch of separation between them, so he feels Steve's body convulse with a laugh he squashes somewhere between inception and vocalization. 

"I felt that, you jerk," he says. 

"Danno, how could I not notice? You tell me loud and clear in your ranting and complaining." 

Danny cocks an eyebrow, wondering if Steve has any idea how deep it goes, but he's not going to point it out if Steve doesn't know. So, instead, taking a page out of Steve's book, he nips his neck. 

"Careful Danno, or you'll leave a mark before I've told Cath about us." 

"How do you think she'll take it?" 

"I think she'll congratulate me and next time she'll book a hotel room without stopping by to see if she can stay here. I keep telling you, she's not going to care." 

Danny's not so sure. 

Yes, he remembers Billy. 

He's pretty sure there had been something between Cath and Billy, but he doesn't know if it was an unacknowledged spark, or a raging flame they were trying to smother behind Steve's back. But, in any case, she'd been devastated by his death. 

But which Cath is this? 

The one who feels closer to Billy than she does to Steve? 

The one who wants to pursue adventure across the world rather than settle for Steve's thing? (As if Five-0 isn't thrilling enough to satisfy her tastes.) 

The one who'd marry Steve if he'd only ask? 

That reaction at the airport, in any case, had certainly been expectant. Also, how do you sleep with Steve and not fall in love with him? Fuck, or just how do you not fall in love with Steve? Danny tries, but he can't understand, at the very least, how people who are genuine friends can take a relationship to a next level and not end up tangling heavy emotions into it. 

But, hey, if he's wrong and Cath really is just a friend-with-benefits to Steve, huzzah! Praise be, what a glorious relief that would be. 

"When are you going to talk to her?" Danny asks. 

"After Gracie's gone to bed. She's only here for the weekend and then she's back at Rachel's. I don't want to waste any more time than we've already lost standing in this closet," he says, finally letting Danny back onto his feet. 

 

 

If any negative feelings are lingering, they're gone in the time it takes for Grace to describe her ambitious plans for a Tower of London style sandcastle. 

Steve's listening with rapt attention, mentally taking notes, as Grace recounts what she remembers from her trip to London. 

Doris looks hesitant to encroach on the moment, but at least she's been dubbed Granny Doris, been handed a shovel, and given marching orders by a little self-dubbed Ninja Princess high on power. 

Cath, on the other hand, looks a little lost. She's glancing between Danny and Steve, silently wondering why SuperSEAL's playing doting parent to his best friend's baby girl. What she doesn't seem to understand is that Steve's not filling in until Danny finishes checking emailed case updates from Max on his phone. Steve fully intends to play with Grace until he's forced to fire up the grill. 

And, even then, he'll switch between tending to the meat and checking on Danny and Grace's progress with the salad. Subsequently, he'll complain that they're doing it wrong. That there's ingredients missing or not enough spices or he'll offer terrible suggestions of what to add, like pineapple slices or coconut shavings. 

They have fun together. 

In fact, Danny has the sneaking suspicion that Steve keeps a running score for who makes Grace laugh the longest, the loudest, and the most often on any given visit. Because what would the man do without a goal to strive for, an opponent to thwart. 

Catherine's silent judgement pisses Danny right the fuck off, but he swallows it in favor of calling Chin and Kono over, figuring they can entertain Cath because Steve's making it obvious he's not going to. 

Until Chin and Kono arrive, Danny keeps an eye on Grace and her laborers, who have moved to the beach, while he makes small talk with Cath. 

She's still got a weird look on her face – a mix of confusion and bewilderment – that Doris occasionally mirrors when she looks up. 

Finally, the doorbell rings. 

"It's open!" Danny yells through the living room. 

Kono opens the door carrying beer while Chin shoulders in with grocery bags stacked in his arms and kicks the door closed behind him. 

"Wow, you guys brought sustenance? I'd kowtow in worship, but my knee feels a little creaky after yesterday's foot chase. Anyways, Chin, Kono, this is Cath, a friend of Steve's from the Navy. Hopefully, her stories are better than Steve's, since nearly all of his begin and end in one line: 'It's classified'. Now, make nice, or I'll sic my daughter on you," he warns, before stepping out onto the beach to join the construction crew. 

For a few hours, everything is perfect. Every earthly concern is far away. Distant and nebulous. Nothing can touch the bubble of ease and contentment Grace creates. 

Together, without much more communication than a few nonverbal exchanges, Danny and Steve turn sandcastle building into something else entirely. 

First, Danny decides he can't help a build crew that's already started construction without an at-scale blueprint to follow. So, Grace starts drawing one out in the sand. 

Then Steve decides he's tired of working for free and says he wants to form a union, recruiting Doris and Danny to his cause with a persuasive argument played up for Grace's benefit. After they vote on having a union and decide on their demands, Grace starts collecting beached seashells to pay them with. One sea shell per ten minutes. 

It's almost like one of the Tycoon computer games – a real life business simulation. And Grace, being a smart cookie, asks lots of questions, learns a few new words, and has a blast doing it. 

Doris is suitably impressed. 

When it's finally time to make dinner, Grace is the first one in the kitchen, already pulling out the giant salad-mixing bowl. 

Doris, of all people, rushes to her side to help her with the bulk. 

The instinctive mom-reaction makes Steve freeze in the doorway and watch. 

Danny, in the meantime, ropes their other guests into preparing jacket potatoes for their meal. 

Cath's understandably confused. When she gets to the kitchen, she stares at Steve like he's not the man she knew in the Navy. Like she's trying to recategorize everything she knows about him. Draw some new conclusions. It's telling that her expression is troubled rather than simply curious. Like the answer matters. 

Like, she's attached to Steve and she's trying to figure out what it means for her relationship with the SEAL. 

Danny's disappointed to be right. 

 

 

At dinner, Grace decides it's the perfect time to collect on Steve's promise to tell Danny some of his most embarrassing moments, courtesy of Cath and Doris. And she proceeds to do so, at length in a shouty little girl voice that carries quite well over the sound of waves and scraping cutlery. 

Some of the stories are so ridiculous, it's clear to everyone who isn't bellow the drinking age just how those scenarios came to fruition. 

Like Steve trying to swim laps in a kiddie pool. 

Or, army crawling away from an attacking hoard of hermit crabs. 

Or, drawing cartoons (tiny dicks) in permanent marker in the cockpit of a MiG-25 fighter jet. 

The whole table's laughing at Steve's expense as he wrestles to keep his skin tone closer to tan than burnt orange. 

"Gracie, please have mercy?" Steve begs, pouting at her and making puppy whimpers and big eyes at her. His antics earn amused vocalizations all around, especially from Grace, but there's also a lot of astonishment. Only Doris (she'd seen him grow up, after all) and Danny know that Steve has this capacity for childish tomfoolery and general goofiness. 

"Sorry, Uncle Steve. A deal's a deal." 

"You tell him, my little card shark," Danny says, holding out his fist for a fist bump. 

"I said you could tell Danno and here you are spilling all my secret escapades to Chin and Kono, too." 

Grace, because she's a crafty munchkin, grins wide and says, "But you never said where or when I could share your stories with Danno. So, I could tell him at the grocery store over the loudspeaker, or in the middle of a play when it's my turn on stage, or on a school visit to the police station." 

Steve's jaw drops. "Jiminy Crickets, you really are a shark! You could teach Five-0 some tricks. What do you say, Gracie? Wanna be our consultant." 

"Oh, no!" Danny playfully claps his hands over tiny ears. "Don't listen monkey, the further away from Five-0's insanity virus, the safer you are." 

It's a wonderful dinner. 

When the sun starts to set, it almost physically hurts to disperse from the table, everyone gathering their share of the plates to shove into the dish washer. Things move quickly from there. 

Doris finds the study and Danny hears her talking to Joe, while Cath and Steve stand outside. Her leaning against his shoulder. Him stiff at her side, and Danny sends Grace upstairs for a bath as he settles in for scrubbing the odds and ends that were either too bulky or simply didn't fit into the dishwasher. 

He doesn't mean to snoop. Doesn't even think he's standing close enough to hear Cath and Steve over the Hawaiian water torture. 

And yet... 

Cath's voice is despondent as she says, "You'll make a wonderful father one day, Steve. I mean that. I'm not sure what's changed, but something has. I never saw it in you before. It's part of the reason it was so easy to just enjoy each other in the moment. I can't help but feel like I'm losing something special here, but I can't blame you for finding someone closer at hand. Someone you can have every day instead of every once in a while." 

"I'm not with Danny because he's convenient, Cath," he tells her. "Since day one, we've clicked. Well...maybe more like day two. People would see us bicker and ask how long the honeymoon had lasted. I needed to know everything about him. Hell, I was curious about his favorite donut flavor and whether he wore boxers or briefs. Anytime we were both free, I'd hunt him down and take him someplace in Hawaii, trying to increase his exposure, trying to convince him this place is more than a sandy, flower-scented rock, because I couldn't stand to lose him. Every time he mentioned Jersey, I got nervous. I...love him, Cath. What? You look shell-shocked." 

"Just...it's none of my business," Cath tries to beg off. 

Danny knows he should go. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but at least everything that's been said so far is not news to him. 

He should go. 

But he's curious. 

It's not like Steve hasn't invaded his privacy before. And they're right outside the house, not far from the windows. It's not like he's following them down the beach to stay in earshot. And they're Naval officers. 

Fuck it. 

They should know better than to be chatting close to the house when there's a detective, a curious little girl, and a CIA agent just inside. 

"You're my friend, Cath, first and foremost. We've known each other for ten years. Come on, you can be honest, "Steve says. 

"You're not going to like it," Cath warns. 

"If it wasn't important, you'd have congratulated me and we'd be done with this conversation," Steve points out. 

There's a pause. 

The ocean fills it with the rushes and swells of salty waves climbing and retreating the beach. 

Finally, she opens with, "I'm concerned." 

"About?" Steve prompts. 

"Do you hear yourself? Don't you think that sounds a little...obsessive? A little fast?" 

"No," Steve says, matter-of-fact. 

"Do you ever wonder why you feel compelled to know so much about him?" 

Steve scoffs. 

"Look, hear me out. He came into your life in a vulnerable moment. Not on purpose but, still, you were grieving the loss of Freddie and your father. Then he helped you catch your dad's murderer. And, he's a devoted man who gave up the life he loved in New Jersey to follow his daughter to a place he obviously hates. You don't think any of that is maybe fueling your obsession?" 

"It's not an obsession, Cath," Steve says with forced calm. 

"Really? Then what is it? Because, from what I understand, you spend 8 hours a day together at work. And now, you're also spending the other sixteen with him, too." 

"So? Plenty of people date their coworkers." 

"He's not just a coworker. He's your partner." 

"What's the difference?" 

"Seeing someone at the office occasionally while you're both busy with different work is one thing. But you two work the same cases, risking life and death side by side." 

"You say that like it's a bad thing to have the person I trust the most as my backup." 

"I think it deepens the obsession and makes it difficult for you to think objectively." 

"I would be in the same position whether or not I was dating Danny. He's already family. I already loved him." 

"Look, I just want you to be sure that you're in it for the right reason and that wh – if it ends, you'll be okay." 

"I caught that slip – our breakup is not inevitable." 

"I'm sure his negativity and pessimism won't affect your relationship at all," she says, sarcastically. And I'm sure he's completely capable of maintaining a healthy relationship. It's not like he has a failed marriage – " 

"Stop," Steve says, sharply. "You know better than to blame him. People with careers in law enforcement are more likely to experience unsuccessful relationships because it's an abnormally demanding job. It changes people. Makes them cynical and suspicious, and whatever. There's long hours and risk of permanent injury or death, all for very little reward. Hell Catherine, me and you, we could be in the same boat if we tried dating civilians. It's all the more reason that it's a bonus that we work togeth –" 

"This is why I didn't want to say anything. You're already convinced it's a good idea." 

"It is a good idea." 

"Don't you get bored of each other?" 

"He has an opinion about everything and I like hearing some of them more than once. I'd need a few lifetimes to run out of questions to ask him, places to take him, things to introduce him to. And that's just my side. I haven't been to Jersey, haven't seen his childhood haunts, or met most his family yet. Look, Cath, I don't worry about us running out of things to do or say to each other. I'm more worried that we'll run out of time to do all of it in." 

Cath sighs. "Steve, that kind of...love you're describing? Whether you believe it or not, it's obsessive. Most people don’t want to spend every hour of every day together. I hope, for your sake, that Danny does. Otherwise...I mean, could you even let him go?" 

"If he wanted me to? Yes. But anything short of that? I'd find a way to make it work." 

"What if he moves away again?" 

"Long distance until I can either find a way to fix whatever went wrong in Hawaii or get a job out East." 

"For a man you met less than a year ago?!" 

Some sort of nonverbal exchange probably takes place, because a few seconds later, Cath says, "Ok, then. Congratulations, Steve. I know it might not seem like it, but I really am happy for you." 

"Thanks, Cath. It – " 

Danny's watch vibrates on his wrist to announce the hour. 

Dammit, he's not sure how long he's been standing over the kitchen sink, raking fingers through his hair, nervous that Steve would agree with her, listening for him to express a doubt at their chances. 

Cath's not wrong. 

Steve can be obsessive. Too quick to leap. And Danny's definitely got his own share of issues to bring to the table. But these are all things they can work on. No relationship is perfect, Danny decides, trying not to take Catherine's view of things to heart. 

Thankfully, Grace is only now coming out of the bathroom. 

Danny can't suppress his smirk. "Hey monkey, I thought you were all for Steve's Navy showers. You done with that experiment already?" He teases. 

"Three minutes is a lot shorter than I thought it was," Grace says, staring forlornly at the timer she'd set for herself. 

Shaking his head, Danny wishes he'd never mentioned any of Steve's weird habits. He'd been trying to give her a sense of what the man was like outside of the moments she already knew him in. The strict exercise, diet, and bathing habits had seemed like good examples of how Steve preserved order in his life. Really, his goal had been simple: to encourage her not to leave her toys all over the house and prepare her for more planned out weekends. 

Before this arrangement, Danny used to come up with a few ideas to present to Grace and he'd let her whims decide how their limited time was going to be spent. Because he didn't know the island well enough, in the past, they'd ended up on tourist beaches at peak times or he'd misinterpreted the weather and they'd wasted prefect surfing weather on historical museums. And preserves had never been an option before, since Danny wasn't going to bet his daughter's safety on his ability to decipher trail markers. 

Steve, however, had a list of activities a mile long for them to work through together. Real plans – and contingency plans – with time tables, required materials lists, appropriate clothing specifications, and learning objectives. 

It was a change in approach that Danny had felt warranted both an introduction and an explanation. At Grace's age, Danny used to demand reasons for any change his parents tried to foist on him and so he tried to give his daughter the explanations that his own parents hadn't always seen fit to give him. Steve's plans stem from Steve's control issues. Ergo, he'd made the mistake of giving Grace a run-down of some of the other ways Steve imposed order. 

He had not, under any circumstances, meant to inspire his baby girl to adopt any of those habits. 

Unfortunately, bless her heart, she really seemed taken with the idea of more structure in areas of life Danny didn't really see the need for it. What's a father to do but be supportive? 

"I'm sure it'll get easier with time, monkey," he says, smoothing her damp hair back. "So, what do you think? Bedtime story? Or are you too mature for those?" He asks, ushering Grace towards her adopted bedroom. 

Her cheeky smile warns him that it's going to be a request for a scene out of Danny Williams's Life Story. 

As Grace bounces herself over the mattress and slips under the covers, Danny says, "Alright, the request line is open." 

She doesn't even have to think about it. "Why do you hate pineapple on pizza?" She asks. 

"If I said I just think it tastes bad?" 

Grace eyes him. "I'd say, you're fibbing, Danno. You've never even tried pineapple pizza." 

"I'm not really sure that's appropriate bedtime story material, Grace." 

"Please, Danno?" 

"I don't want you to have scary dreams, monkey." 

"I promise I won't get scared." 

Damn, that pout is hard to resist. 

Sighing, Danny considers what he can edit out and tries to think of a happy place to end the story, before finally agreeing. Tucking the edges of the bedspread around Grace (even if it's a useless practice in a place as warm as Hawaii), Danny starts, "Do you remember your Great-uncle Vinny?" 

On silent feet, Steve crosses the wooden floor and sits down on the mattress at the foot of the bed. 

Cath must be gone, then. 

Steve doesn't look upset, which is always good news. Must mean that at least they're parting on friendly terms, even if Cath seems less than optimistic about their future. Danny wonders if he should expect his own Big Brother speech from her now that the tables are flipped. 

"Keep going," Steve prompts, nudging Danny with cold toes. 

"Aren't you a little old for bedtime stories?" Danny grumbles. This story is nothing special, but it's one of the few Steve hasn't gotten an answer to during his "Let's Learn How to Read Danny" sessions. 

Comically widening his eyes, Steve shakes his head. "There's no such thing as 'too old' for bedtime stories. Right, Gracie? Back me up." 

She giggles. "Uncle Steve's right, Danno." 

"Well, thank goodness. Guess that means I can visit you when you're in college and tell you bedtime stories, huh?" 

"Just tell the story, Danno," Grace huffs at him. 

"Who's Great-uncle Vinny?" Steve asks, with genuine curiosity. 

"My Ma's brother, owns a pizzeria in Hoboken." 

"Pizza – is this the explanation I've been waiting for? The reason behind the pineapple on pizza rant? Holy smokes, Gracie, I should've teamed up with you ages ago." 

"I can still throw you out," Danny warns. 

"No, you'd save me, wouldn't you, Gracie?" 

Giggling, Grace begs, "Danno, please tell us the story." 

"I do not like this trend," Danny says, glaring at them. "If you two start ganging up on me, there shall be consequences. You will rue the day." He wags a warning finger at Grace. "Mark my words. Rue the day!" 

"This is classic Danno-stalling," Steve says, leaning in to whisper at Grace behind his hand. "He starts throwing out words no one uses and suddenly you're talking about swindlers at Canadian farmers' markets." 

"That is a legitimate problem. I saw an investigative video-journalism piece on it." 

"See? Conversation derailed," Steve tells a Grace whose giggles really aren't dying down as she watches them banter. 

"Daaaannooooo," she whines, once she's finally caught a sober breath. 

"Okay, fine. So, Great-uncle Vinny, you know how he's kind of quiet? How his sons run the pizzeria while he stays home and does the accounting and the inventory, all the business paperwork?" He waits for Grace's nod. 

"Well, Great-uncle Vinny wasn't always like that. In fact, he was a real happy-go-lucky charmer. His old lady used to chase him with a rolling pin around the pizzeria at peak hours because he flirted so much, gave their customers quite a show. And, he was down there all the time. Hanging out in front of the restaurant after hours with a beer and some of the old-timers who liked to play chess on front stoops and watch traffic from the sidewalk on their lawn chairs. Or futzing around in the kitchen, experimenting with sauces and toppings till late into the night. Dessert pizzas, tropical pizzas, designer pizzas – whatever ingredient you could think of, he was ready and willing to try on a pizza. Every lunch time, he'd sell slices of his experimental creations. His wife, Maria, used to complain that she was always behind on inventory orders because he kept changing recipes. He loved that pizzeria. Most days, if Pops wanted to find him, he'd go down to the restaurant first, and try his house second." 

Because Steve had missed the warning about this not being a nice bedtime story, he's staring at Danny in surprise. "This doesn't sound like it's going any place good." 

"I warned my munchkin, but Grace insisted. You sure you still want to hear the end of this one, monkey?" 

"Yes, please," she says, seriously, little hands folded in preparation for some bad news. 

"Okay...so, one night, really late – like 3 in the morning – Great-uncle Vinny is down at his restaurant, multitasking between his most recent experiment and preparing his work station for the next day's lunchtime rush. Setting out ingredients into ordered bins, opening new packages of flour, updating the inventory record, whatever. His place is doing well and everyone in the neighborhood knows it. Including the men who belong to the Italian Mafia." 

Steve is starting to look a great deal less enthused about this story. 

Grace is rapt. 

Electing not to explain what it means to pay protection to mafiosos and how sometimes there's corruption in law enforcement that allows for such extortion, Danny skips ahead. He fills her in on what the mafia is and then tells her, "The Mafia wasn't happy with Uncle-Vinny, so they came by his restaurant that night and beat him up. Enough to put him in that wheel-chair. 

"Me and Pops found him the next morning when we stopped by to share a cup of coffee and the bagels with him. He was badly hurt, in a lot of pain, but what he couldn't stop asking about was the restaurant. They'd shoved him into a cabinet under the front counter before trashing the place. Furniture was broken, the glass display windows bashed in, the tables had scorch marks, but it was the smell coupled with just how bad Uncle-Vinny looked that did it. 

"Because, to add insult to injury, those goons smeared the walls with sauces and took all of Vinny's inventory and dumped it - into the cash register, over the tables, in the bathroom, on the counter. The floor was sticky and slick with the gunk. But, you can't really smell a raw mushroom or pepperoni from the distance. It's not a pervasive smell until you cook it. Pineapple, though – Vinny kept precut slices of it in these huge containers full of pineapple juice, to keep them moist. When those...bad guys spilled the containers, the restaurant filled with the heavy scent of pineapple and the special kind of sauce Vinny liked to put on his fruitier pizzas. 

"So, that's why I don't like pineapple on pizza. And why I'm not a fan of fancy pizzas or ones with too many ingredients or on different kinds of bread or with weird sauces. A New York slice is something you can get anywhere, so it doesn't remind me of anything. But the special stuff? We only ate pizzas like that at Vinny's. All I can think about when I see those is Great-uncle Vinny and how he avoids the restaurant. I remember him from that day and the mess at the scene. You still okay, kiddo?" 

Picking at the edge of the blanket overthrow, Grace nods. "That's just...so mean. What those men did. Poor Great-uncle Vinny." 

Danny can't think of an honest platitude to give her. He's felt the same way about Uncle Vinny. Sometimes life just sucks and you've got a choice – keep going or give up. 

And Uncle Vinny gave up. 

Steve bobs his head to catch Danny's eye, quirking a brow. Can I try? 

Danny bobs back. Go ahead. 

"You know, Gracie," he starts, "I've served with a lot of people over the years and every one of them had to deal with the after-effects of experiencing traumatic events. What I noticed is that people process things differently. Some people needed to talk about it, some people went to church, or spent more time with family, and some people avoided things that reminded them of the trauma. It's a process that can take a month or it can take decades, but it's never too late to come back from it." 

As Steve continues in that hopeful vein, Grace begins to look galvanized, making plans to reach out to Great-uncle Vinny, talk to him about pizza again, ask him for some recipes or skype him for a collaborative baking session. 

Suddenly, a flash of movement in the floor-length mirror catches Danny's eye. He turns his head just enough to make out Doris watching them – and, in particular, Steve – with rapt attention. There's a and odd mix of emotions in her expression. Like she's suddenly realizing her boy's all grown up. Bittersweet, slightly heartbroken, but proud. 

 

 

 

Danny's nearly asleep when he suddenly senses a presence standing over him. Folding down the edge of the comforter, he blinks up at Steve sightlessly. 

The idiot has the nerve to ask, "What are you doing?" 

"What am I doing? What are you doing?" Danny mutters back, voice already sleep-rough. He'd been nearly out. 

"I was waiting for you, upstairs," Steve says. 

"Okay, except your mother and Grace are upstairs." 

"So?" 

"My daughter may be nine, Steven, but even she won't miss the implications of me sharing your bedroom the same way Stan and Rachel do. Let alone your mother." 

It's solid reasoning. 

As far as Danny's concerned, he's won. 

Except it's a chilly day in hell when Steve just lets him win. 

Today, it must be sweltering down there because, true to form, Steve just crosses his arms and says, "My mother's CIA. Trust me, she's at least guessed by now that we're not platonic. As for Grace, what did you tell her when she asked you why you moved in with me?" 

"She didn't ask. Just squealed when I told her she could decorate Mary's old room any way she wanted. To her, this is normal. You're family. I'm sleeping on your couch. For a year, two of my cousins were basically renting out the basement of our house back in Jersey." 

"You were planning to skip telling her we're in a relationship?" Steve asks, voice carefully neutral of the hurt that's definitely narrowing his eyes. 

"No. I figured we'd tell her together – tomorrow, in fact, since we ran out of time today. But notice the key word there is tell. Not 'inspire questions by having her find the couch empty in the morning and me coming down the stairs from your room'. Since she's a little girl who doesn't conform to a regular sleep schedule on weekends, I don't know what time she'll wake up to be back on the couch by then. Thus, I am sleeping here tonight." 

Steve ponders for a second before he asks, "Why?" 

"Why what?" Because for once, Danny's not sure which part Steve's questioning. 

"Why do you need to have the conversation first?" 

"To reduce the shock and surprise," Danny says, giving up on a quick dismissal of Steve and sitting up. 

"So, you think she'll be shocked and surprised if she sees you coming out of our bedroom?" 

Ah...right. Our bedroom. 

Before he'd left, Steve had started insisting Danny use more jointly-possessive pronouns in reference to the house. 

Which is not going to happen anytime soon. 

It's enough of a wonder that they're dating in the first place after what, to Danny, is so fucking long, and to Steve is not that long at all. As soon as he gets used to going steady with Steve, he'll start working on claiming partial ownership over Steve's possessions. 

But, back to the matter at hand, Danny sighs. "No, I guess not so much. I've been mentioning you a lot, especially in the last month. Trying to get her to draw comparisons between us and the relationship between Stan and Rachel." 

"Then, what's the problem?" 

Danny's sure there was a reason he wanted to officially inform Grace of their change in status, but for the life of him, he can't remember what it was. Fuck, if he shrugs, he loses the argument. 

Was there a reason he needed to win this argument? 

His yawn distracts him. 

Enough that he doesn't recognize Steve's intentions until it's too late. Apparently, a lack of an answer is the equivalent of a shrug. 

Too bad, so sad. You lose, but thanks for playing. 

Steve scoops him off the couch and onto a shoulder like a fucking bag of rice, and runs him up the stairs, into the master suite. 

"Steven," he hisses. 

"I missed you, Danno," Steve says, as he drops him onto the bed. "Now, if you insist, I'll sleep on the couch with you. But fuck if I'm sleeping alone tonight. Especially if you can't even give me a good reason." 

"Yeah, okay," Danny sighs, pulling Steve down next to him. 

Instantly, Commander Octopus is all over Danny, arms wrapping tight as he tangles their legs together. 

They're both tired. 

Also, Grace and Doris are just a few doors down. 

The should go to sleep. 

Steve's so warm, though, his heart beating a healthy rhythm that Danny takes a moment to listen to with deep appreciation. It matches the mantra in his head. 

Steve's alive. 

Steve's alive. 

Steve's alive. 

Some moments, it feels so precious and fragile – this second chance. And, given their reunion, Danny's loathe to squander it. Gently, he kisses the nearest patch of skin – Steve's collarbone. 

Steve nuzzles him in response, which puts his lips close enough that Danny can reach for a kiss without straining his neck. 

Humming with pleasure, Steve kisses back. Lingering, closed-lip kisses that he's obviously struggling to keep PG, probably conscious of his houseguests. 

However, Danny had been married for ten years. He's not unfamiliar with having quiet sex under the same roof as his daughter, or even his in-laws. 

Not that Doris is his in-law. 

Shit, but in some distant future she might be. 

Woe be the day that it happens. Although, at the very least, he's pretty sure he's made a better first impression this time around. No doubt, he has Grace to thank for it. She's the kind of rubber cement that binds. 

The next kiss, Danny cups Steve's jaw lightly and licks at the seam of SuperSEAL's mouth. 

Such a small action, but Steve's resolve collapses under it, sucking Danny's tongue into his mouth as he rolls on top of him, fitting into the V of his legs. "You sure?" He asks against Danny's lips, unwilling to create additional space between them. 

"Grace is in bed. We can change the rating on this reunion," Danny reminds him, "if you lock the door." 

The other times they've had sex, the mood was slow, playful, talkative. 

Now that he's been given the green light, however, Steve doesn't seem to have the capacity for slow. He's up and back faster than Danny can track to lock the door, and it's like he's been starved. Almost absentmindedly, he pins Danny to the bed and starts...licking him over? 

It seems like it shouldn't be appealing. The human body only has so many erogenous zones. But, apparently, different textures in different places have different results. And Steve must've been paying attention, mapping them out, taking mental notes because, effortlessly, he makes Danny burn. 

Why? 

Danny doesn't get it. 

Okay, some parts aren't so surprising. 

Like the way Steve nips and sucks his nipples into hard, red peaks. The light nibbles of teeth along the shell of Danny's ear. The gentle caress of fingertips that he follows with his mouth on the soft patch of skin behind Danny's knees. 

But, since when is it hot to have the underside of his jaw licked? Or the insides of his wrists tongued? Or the back of his neck lathed with hot saliva just before Steve bites down? 

Since when do his hips buck as Steve drags his chin down Danny's inner thigh, before soothing away the prickle of stubble with kisses and puffs of air? 

And it all happens so fast, that Danny feels breathless at the onslaught of pleasure. 

Fuck, is Steve doing it on purpose? It seems like any time he manages to fill his lungs, Steve's there, licking into his mouth and sucking all the air out. 

And, what the fuck are those hands doing? 

Danny's familiar with having long nails raked over his back, sometimes deep enough to draw blood. It hadn't happened often, but a few drunken nights in the time when every interaction with Rachel felt like a battle, including the sex, he'd come away with long, bleeding scratches. 

Steve's fingernails are blunt points of pressure against his skin, tracing a shiver-inducing path over his skin, following the dips in his spine, sliding in the space between his ribs, before skimming the small of his back. 

Danny's not sure whether to strain away or lean in to the varying textures and pressures of Steve's touch. Fuck, but he feels like an instrument that Steve's learned how to play too well, in too short a time. It's not fair that he should be learning about his own body at the same time as SuperSEAL. 

Suddenly, Steve's hands dip down to cup his ass. "God, Danno, do you have any idea how hard it's been, keeping my hands to myself all day? Your ass in tight dress pants is sinful. But your ass in board shorts? After two weeks apart? Almost too tempting." 

"Huh." 

"What?" 

"I just realized – this, for you, was the longest we've been apart since we met." 

Steve hums. "What was the longest for you?" 

"Don't know but, gotta admit, I feel better having you around," Danny says, pulling him into a kiss. 

"Well, maybe this time around we can try and keep two weeks as our record. Shared vacations, joint missions. Maybe skip the kidnappings. What do you think?" Steve asks, mouthing at Danny's jawline as one hand squeezes his cheek, creating more space for his other hand to dip lower. 

"Sure, babe." 

With that, their pace slows again. 

Apparently, this is not something Steve's willing to rush. Still, Danny hisses from surprise as Steve soothes two fingers in a gentle caress over his hole. 

"Shh, relax, Danno. You're too tense. Hey," Steve nips his throat, "you didn't finger yourself at all when I was gone, huh?" 

"I told you, I don't masturbate. I've gone years without sex. Two weeks was nothing. Why pretend I'm in bed with you when I know you'll be home soon?" 

"No wonder you're leaking so heavy," Steve says, licking the trail of pre-cum from Danny's balls up his dick. "Lube?" 

Danny stretches his hand towards the bedside table. "Open sesame," he says, wiggling his fingers at the drawer. "Nope, too far. You'll have to get off me." 

"I've got it," Steve says, reaching with one of his ridiculous arms over Danny's head and, while he's positioned higher, dropping a kiss to Danny's temple, cheek, neck, right over his heart, before sitting up, onto his knees, with lube in-hand. 

From smutty to sweet back to smutty again. 

It's enough to make Danny grin. 

And lord, the way Steve grins back – 

"A-ah, Steve..." Danny bites off a moan at the first finger. 

"Geezus, Danno, you're too tight," he says, pouring a puddle of lube into his hand. 

"I'm sorry, is that a problem for you?" Danny asks, mildly aggrieved at Steve's disappointed tone. 

"You're an idiot. I love working you open. You have no idea how beautiful you look with your lips parted, gasping for breath, begging me to give you more, to hurry up. Someday, I'm going to fuck you in front of a mirror. Make you see what I see. Your expressions, the way you take me in, the way you look when you're all pink with embarrassment." 

"You absolute soppy goof," Danny mutters, feeling a flush roll through him, probably turning his skin the exact shade of pink Steve's describing. 

"Yeah, just like that," Steve confirms, chuckling in delight. "But, babe, I'm not fucking you tonight." 

"What? Wh-ah...why?" Danny pants, arching as Steve aims more pointedly for his prostate. 

"Normally, I wouldn't hesitate since you'd have Sunday to recover before you'd need to be back on your feet, but I promised Grace we'd go to the museum. If I fuck you tonight, there's no way you won't be sore tomorrow. And there's no way I'm going to ruin your weekend with your daughter by forcing you to walk around with a literal pain in your ass." 

"Can we please, please, not be talking about this when you've got your fingers inside me. Also, don't I get a say?" 

"No. And if you want this to go differently next time, take some slick and work yourself open a few days before I get back. Or, if you'd rather wear a butt plug after work –" 

"Do you ever shut up?" Danny whimpers. The heat his body's producing right now is enough to make him dizzy. 

"Don't much like it when the shoe's on the other foot, huh?" 

"You, my friend, can be a downright chatty asshole when it comes to topics concerning the ocean or armaments or strategic ops. People just don't realize because you spend so much time provoking m-me," Danny tries to bite off a moan, but Steve, again, won't let him. "What is with you and lip-biting?" 

Steve ignores the question, choosing instead to ask one of his own. "Do all of your rants stem from traumatic events and bad memories? I mean, am I going to find out you hate the beach because of something terrible? Or that my driving reminds you of an accident you almost didn't survive?" His dark eyes are genuinely concerned. 

"Why do you s-start conversations l-like this in the middle of –" Danny sweeps a hand at their general vicinity, unable to finish as Steve hits his prostate again. 

"Answer the question, Danno." 

"L-look, I am not an alien from another p-planet. I've got opinions for a reason. Those reasons vary like they do for everyone." 

"You have very specific opinions about everything under the sun." 

"S-steve!" Danny whines, trying to keep his voice low. "Please, please, p-please stop teasing." 

His request falls on deaf ears though. 

Steve, apparently loves this. Enough that he's getting off on just the sight of Danny unraveling, cock throbbing against Danny's thigh. 

"If you're n-not going to fuck me, isn't there s-something called frottage?" 

Danny doesn't understand why Steve's shaking in his arms until Steve shifts so that the moon is illuminating his expression. 

"Why are you laugh –" Danny chokes the rest of the word, as Steve once again hits his prostate without fail, this time with some vibration from the way the asshole's silently laughing at him. "What? Is that the w-wrong term?" 

"Depends," Steve says, after he's caught his breath. "If you're talking about friction sex, then it's the right word." 

"Then why are you laughing?" 

"The way you say it, like it's a foreign lang...language –" 

And the schmuck's laughing again. 

"Yes or no?" Danny asks, frustrated. 

In answer, he fingers his prostate a last time and, while Danny's still gasping, Steve cups his hips with both hands and maneuvers him onto his side before settling behind him, cock fitted between Danny's thighs. "This what you were picturing?" 

"More or less," is the last coherent thing Danny gets out before there's too much going on to think straight. He almost misses that Steve's hips are moving, his lubricated cock a hot, delicious slide against the sensitive skin of Danny's inner thighs, because Steve...How does he even manage to concentrate enough to be in such constant motion? 

Danny can't register where he's being touched at any given moment. 

Steve tweaks his nipples and runs a few gentle scratches over the responsive nubs, and while Danny's nerve endings are still singing at the memory of touch, he moves on to palm his dick and collect enough pre-cum which he then finger-fucks into Danny's mouth. Meanwhile, his other hand is running through Danny's hair, tugging occasionally, or tracing his Achilles tendon with too-light fingertips, pulling a surprised, ticklish laugh out of Danny, or fondling his balls, spreading his own pre-cum along the skin there. 

This was supposed to be boring sex. 

Frottage doesn't even sound sexy. It's something for teenagers to do while they're waiting to be old enough for the risks that come with penetrative sex. 

And yet, Danny feels overwhelmed. 

Still, he tries to help. It's a little difficult, since, once again, Steve's behind him, but he finds a way to position his fingers so that they trace over the veins in Steve's cock as he rocks his hips forward and back. 

With a sweet whimper, Steve bites down on the flesh at the junction of Danny's shoulder and neck. And that's somehow the thing that tips Danny over the edge. 

Steve's hand is there to catch the cum. Rather than over the bedspread, he spreads it over Danny's abdomen and licks the rest out of his palm. 

"What is with you and cum?" Danny asks, twisting his upper body enough to catch one of Steve's nipples in his mouth. 

Steve, again, doesn't answer, but at least this time it's because he can't. His frame goes rigid, muscles straining as he finds his own orgasm. This time, when he collects the cum, he does his best to coat Danny's hole and push as much of the sticky fluid past the rim and along his passage as he can. 

"You're really not going to tell me?" 

Apparently, they're not taking a shower until morning, because Steve rearranges them on the bed so that they're under the covers. He pulls Danny close, laying low enough so he can comfortably nuzzle into Danny's neck. 

Danny's no longer expecting an answer when Steve finally admits, "I like the scent of us together. I like knowing there's something of me inside you." 

"Possessive much?" Danny teases. 

"Yeah. More than you probably know, Danno." 

But Danny's pretty sure he has an idea. Hindsight is 20/20. 

For Danny, coming from a big, close-knit family, it had been normal to walk into Steve's without knocking. To touch him without asking. To offer his opinion when it wasn't requested. It's one of the reasons people with big space bubbles and strict personal boundaries tend not to like Danny. He's been told he's like Kudzu – an invasive, smothering plant that tends to grow past boundaries. 

Steve, with his control issues and how heavily he guards his privacy, should have, by all rights, hated Danny. And yet, he'd not only dragged him into Five-0 and actively invited him into his life – he'd also given as good as he got, even though it was all foreign to him. 

He doesn't touch Chin and Kono very often and definitely doesn't wander into their houses without invite or forewarning. He wouldn't just stroll into their offices or take over the driving in their vehicles. When people would call them married, or misinterpret the use of the term partner in Steve's introductions, he didn't correct them the way he did with Catherine and the girlfriend label. And the man had insisted on calling him Danno – the name only his daughter used. 

As he starts to drift off, Danny wonders how he'd missed it. All those little signs that now seem obvious. 

Steve, in his own way, had been marking Danny as his, weaving himself into Danny's life, declaring himself family. And this – the way Steve sleepily licks up his neck and tugs the skin red with his teeth – is just another extension of it. 

 

 

 

Danny's eyes pop open the next day and, for some reason, the first thought he has in his head is 'Smooth Dog'. The name fits, he thinks, considering the way Steve seems happy to lick any part of Danny. It's like the guy has an oral fixation. Biting, mouthing, sucking. 

As Danny turns over, he's startled to find Steve already awake, hazel eyes watching him. 

"Creepy much?" Danny mumbles, voice a little sleep-rough. 

Leaning in to nuzzle at him, Steve just hums. 

"Hey, how did you get the nickname Smooth Dog?" He asks, suddenly. 

Steve props his head on an arm, eyebrow cocked. Why? 

Shaking his head, Danny bumps him with his arm. No reason. Just tell me. 

"I was the best guy on my team when it came to spotting and dismantling explosives. So, Smooth for the quick and careful disassembly, Dog for the uncanny sixth sense," Steve says, grinning with wolfish pride. 

Danny has to stifle his laughter with the pillow. "So, it had...n-nothing to do...with sex?" He asks, between giggle-choked breaths. 

"No, Danno." 

"But you knew I assumed it did. Why didn't you set me straight?" 

Steve leans back in again, burying his nose in Danny's hair as he pulls him into his arms. "Figured maybe it'd help my case if you thought I was good at sex." 

"Well, you are. But Smooth Dog doesn't really imply that. Honestly, I thought it just meant you were promiscuous. You know, really successful with one-night-stands. Also, for the longest time, I thought it was a name you'd earned ironically." 

With a dog-like whine, Steve protests. "How could you think that? From what you told me, I only hooked up with two women in all the time you knew me." 

Danny shrugs. "There was a lot of flirting." 

With a snort, Steve points out, "Of the two of us, you're the bigger flirt." 

"I am not! I just happen to have manners. I try to smile at people. Be friendly." 

"Uh-huh," Steve says, with clear disbelief in his tone as he kisses Danny's forehead and rolls off mattress to land on his feet. "Come on, up and at 'em, Danno. The day's a-wastin'!" 

 

When they get downstairs, Grace and Doris are sitting at the kitchen table. They both look up when they enter. 

"Good morning, boys," Doris says, studying them closely. In particular, noticing the space that isn't between them. 

Steve is apparently done maintaining the distance from yesterday when there had been Catherine to deal with. His hand's curled around Danny's waist, thumb soothing a circle into his skin. 

"Hey, monkey," Danny says, watching her notice their closeness. "You got anything you want to ask me and Steve?" 

"Nope," Grace says, grinning. "Granny Doris explained everything." 

"Oh? And how would you summarize that conversation, Mom?" Steve asks. 

"I don't mean to presume as to the permanence of this arrangement," Doris says, "but I thought it was fair to say that the two of you are dating in the same way Grace's mother and step-father were dating before their marriage." 

The collective attention of the room shifts to Danny for confirmation, which he feels is a little unfair. Steve's the bachelor whose life stands to change the most if they stay together. And it's not Danny who runs the risk of missing out on blood-related progeny. 

Then again, once upon a time, Steve had died in an empty house, despite having had the freedom to pursue anyone he wanted, without Danny standing in his way. And there's the things Steve had said to Catherine just yesterday. 

Cocking an eyebrow at Grace, Danny asks, "What do you think, monkey? We keeping him?" 

"YES!" Grace bounces out of her seat and throws her arms around Steve's middle. 

Gaze flitting to Danny, SuperSEAL lifts her gently up and sets her on his hip. "Really? I get to be an honorary Williams?" As much as there's humor in his voice for Grace's benefit, it's a serious question. 

Catching Steve's eye, Danny says, "I'm all in, babe. For as long as you'll have us." 

And, holy hell, Steve lights up like he's been given the best gift. 

Idiot. 

What would they do without him? 

 

 

Now, if only Steve hadn't promised Grace a day at the museum... 

It's one Steve hasn't been to since he was a preteen and Danny's been to a few times too many. 

Dammit. 

As they wander the exhibits, led only by Grace's whims, Danny hopes they don't run into – 

Gabby's out on the floor in the section with the ancient Hawaiian artifacts. She looks lovely in the dark floral dress and high, strappy heels. And that's about the extent of his feelings. He's vaguely surprised by just how much time has eroded what he remembers was once a keen-enough fondness that he was nearly convinced it was love. 

Good thing he hadn't said the words. It would've been the least genuine confession he'd ever given. 

"What's with that face? You know her?" Steve asks, hanging back as Doris lets Grace lead her around past all the glass cases. 

"I...uh. We met her on a case. Then, I ended up dating her for a while until she got offered a better career opportunity on the mainland." 

"Was it serious?" 

"Kind of? I guess, compared to Melissa, yeah. By a lot. But that's not a sample size." 

Steve's chest rumbles oddly. It's a noise he made, rather than something his stomach is doing. 

"What is it?" Danny asks, not liking the way Steve eyes her, tracing her frame from top to bottom. It's weird. Also, he doesn't know how to interpret his reaction. 

"It's just...she looks kind of like Rachel. I'm the tallest person you've ever dated. The only guy you've ever dated. Are you sure you like me Danno?" 

"No, I hate you," Danny says, rolling his eyes. 

Except Steve doesn't correct him. The idiot is actually being serious. 

"Dammit, Steven, really? I love you, you goof." 

"Do you? Because I've put those words in your mouth a couple times, but it's the first time I'm hearing it. And, let's be honest, you barely know me. It's only been about a year." 

This isn't the place to be having a serious discussion. 

Danny tows Steve over to a corner and whispers harshly, "Barely know you? I know all a-fucking-bout you." 

"No, you know it about someone who doesn't exist anymore." 

Because it's the best he can do with his rage in a public space, he kicks Steve's shoe. "Are you seriously jealous of yourself right now? I did take into account what you said at the petroglyphs about not turning out the same. I understand that part. But, Steve, you're still the guy who does everything to make my little girl happy. The guy that leaps first and looks later. The guy who's always there for his ohana. Who misses his father, relives his worst missions in nightmares, and feels residual guilt over Freddie." 

Steve's face twists at the mention of his dead friend. 

"Yeah, Steve, by the way, your past – the parts of it that you shared and confided with me – hasn't changed. You think I'm not in love with you? What do you think I'm missing? What piece of information do you think would be relevant in differentiating you and the Steve I knew for years? If the past is the same, the tells are the same, the care and generosity and SuperSEAL bullshit is the same, what's left besides shared experiences? 

"For me, there's a clear line between the platonic best friend I loved from afar and the guy who's become my exception to every rule. You're not my type, but I'm hot for you in a way I can't remember being for anyone else. You're not a woman, but I can't imagine sleeping with anyone else. You're not the Steve I gave part of my liver to, or went into North Korea and Afghanistan for, or traveled down to Columbia with for a terrible exchange. And you know what? I fucking hope you never become him. I hope you don't have to deal with the shit I went through with that Steve. 

"And, fuck, but what do you imagine my past with him was like? Because I can tell you, a lot of it was miserable. Seeing you with other women, seeing you hurt time and again, hating you and sniping at you some days because of stunts you pulled, investigating and hunting Wo Fat for months on end with you in lieu of having a life. 

"I love you, Steve, which is why I'm desperate to prevent those things from happening. I don't want you to turn out like the Steve I knew. Because, much as I loved him too, it was a bittersweet, tainted, and fruitless love. And it's nothing like what we've been growing between us." 

Steve had shifted so that his ear was directly on level with Danny's mouth, so that he could hear every furious, whispered word despite the echoes of shoes scuffing tile and people exchanging thoughts over glass cases. They're still in public, so there's a limit on how he can respond to Danny's diatribe, but he presses a quick kiss to his forehead and whispers back, "Sorry, Danno. It's just...crossed my mind before. That maybe I'm a substitute for what you really want. I had no idea you felt all that. I should've brought it up sooner, since it's been bugging me for a while. But, I'm glad you told me all that. There's not a doubt left in my mind that maybe we're not both in this for the same reasons." 

"Idiot," Danny says, kissing Steve's cheek. 

 

 

 

At the office on Monday morning, Steve's face does an interesting dance of fleeting negative emotions before he settles for Aneurysm face at the sight of Lori. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" 

At the brusque questions, Lori freezes, finger rippling icons on the table. 

"Ah...this is Lori Weston. The governor assigned her to the taskforce," Danny explains. 

The glare Steve levels at him clearly asks, Why didn't you tell me about this? 

Danny shrugs. "Forgot." 

As she rounds the table to shake Steve's hand, her eyes sweep over him, the sight sweetening her smile. 

And, yup, Danny was right. 

As soon as Steve notices she's interested, all traces of annoyance disappear. Fixing his posture, he grins – with just his mouth, not his eyes – and asks, "So, Lori, do you have any specialties?" 

Lori's only too happy to list them all. Even shows off some of her profiling skills by revealing what she's worked out about her teammates that wasn't in the dossier Jameson had given her. It's relatively harmless PC stuff about what's motivating their behaviors, most right, some wrong. 

When she mentions that Danny often rubs at his ring finger when he's driving, Steve cocks an eyebrow at him. 

Danny doesn't really want to go near the question in Steve's eyes, because Lori's assumptions are off. It's not Rachel who crosses his mind when he's driving the Camero. It's such a rare experience to be behind the wheel during the work day that his thoughts drift naturally to Steve – in the past, how many people had seen what they could've been, the potential of their relationship to be different, and he ponders all the ways Steve has changed him, the patterns – like getting into the passenger's seat – that he's adopted to fit his partner. They're not thoughts he's ready to voice to Steve. 

He has a hard-enough time keeping SuperSEAL at a reasonable pace with their relationship. It's lucky that Hawaii's marriage laws won't change till 2013. Although, he'll have to be careful about traveling East with Steve. If he's remembering right, New York had been ahead of the curve. 

So, without meaning to, he bites his lip. 

The first time is an accident, but Steve's reaction is so much fun to watch – the brief pupil dilation as his gaze drops to Danny's lips, the mirrored lip-bite, the aborted finger-twitch as he resists reaching out and making Danny release the plump flesh from its rough treatment – that Danny almost can't help himself. 

Throughout the day, as they're following leads from Kamekona, trying to find the base of operations for a gun-running group, Danny tests the consistency of Steve's reactions in the inconsequential moments that make up purely investigative days on the job. So, at lunch, or on the mid-afternoon coffee run, or – in particular – during the moments where Steve's engaging Lori, trying to find out more about her, getting a sense of how much of her function is "Governor's Lackey" and how much she can actually be a help to Five-0. 

And at first, Steve's oblivious. 

Lip-biting is, after all, one of Danny's nervous habits. 

It's not until, towards the end of the day, Lori follows Steve's distracted gaze to Danny that he makes a mistake that gives the game away. 

"What is it?" Lori asks. "You've been absently looking over at Danny all day. Is there a particular detail about Danny standing out to you? Maybe unconsciously reminding you of something? Something about the case?" 

She's observant but, again, barking up the wrong palm tree. 

Too bad her comment startles him enough that he guiltily releases his lip. 

Steve's eyes snap to his. 

Oh, no. Why is Steve smiling like that? All smug and conniving...and not good. 

"Not really about the case," Steve says, "but I'm pretty sure Danny and I are on the same wavelength. You thinking about warnings and consequences, Danno? Because, I feel like I warned someone not too long ago that there would be consequences if I ever caught them giving me lip." 

Unfortunately, the consequences that immediately spring to mind make Danny's stomach twist in a bad way. Swallowing hard, he tries not to shiver at the chill xylophoning over his spine. Shit, he hadn't thought this far ahead. Hadn't really expected to get caught. And had expected even less his own reaction to the vague threat in Steve's voice. 

Fuck, he wishes he could take back the last few minutes. 

Lori thankfully doesn't catch the reference and before she can ask what that has to do with gunrunners, Kono walks in with an address for them to swarm. 

As they split up, unevenly, into separate cars to drive to the location, Danny gets in with Kono, leaving Chin to his bike, and Lori to take the passenger seat in the Camero. 

Ousted from his own car and it's a relief. 

Fuck, what had he been thinking? He had not wanted, in any way, shape, or form, to steer them down this road. What had possessed him to tease Steve when the man had explicitly told him he wouldn't let it go unpunished? 

"You okay, brah?" Kono asks, speeding past a befuddled Steve, who's checking his numerous cargo-pant pockets for his set of keys to the Camero. 

"Did anyone call backup yet?" Danny redirects. 

"Chin made the call. The nearest patrol car said it would arrive in ten minutes." 

"Guess you'll need to drive faster, huh?" Danny prompts, looking at his watch. 

Raising an eyebrow, Kono happily hits the gas. 

Even distracted by his own mini-crisis, Danny's happy to see she's not nearly as bad as Steve behind the wheel in a time crunch. 

It's a small mercy, since Danny's pretty sure he'd vomit if she went any faster. 

 

 

After they've arrested the gunrunners and Danny's successfully avoided Steve for over an hour, Danny convinces Kono to give him a ride home. Fuck the paperwork. He can do it tomorrow. He's got more immediate fish to fry. 

Because the more time that passes, the more those consequences Steve mentioned get exaggerated in his head, the more he realizes he can't do it. 

He's not into it, can't go down that path. Not with anyone. And especially not with Steve. He blames his own inexperience for it being such a revelation, but he can't mix punishment with sex. The very thought has him shaking. 

He remembers the things he'd heard in Columbia. How there seemed to be a class system. How some guys got degraded and demeaned in the courtyard. The patronizing way some of the older men would treat the younger guys, calling them names, spanking them in public for failing to complete a task. He can't, he can't, he can't. 

Which is why he's determined to beat Steve home and find a defensible position where SuperSEAL can't sneak up on him and Danny will see him coming with enough forewarning that he can start talking before Steve reaches him. 

In his mind, none of this sounds unreasonable. 

Not his worries, nor his precautions, nor his expectations about the possible ways it could all go down. He doesn't really notice the point at which the adrenaline gets to his head. The moment where rational thought gets superseded by whatever weirdness has him wedged into a corner of the kitchen, the counter behind him with plenty a wooden spoon in the drawer beside him to fend Steve off if need be. Fuck, it's almost like he forgets that it's Steve he's dealing with in the first place. 

The first real clarity he gets is when Steve finally gets home. 

"Danno," he calls out, confusion and worry in his voice. He walks in slowly, turning on lights as he goes, making their surroundings brighter, more welcoming. 

Fuck, Danny should have thought of that. He's standing in a dark kitchen, holding the handle of the multi-purpose spoon drawer, starting to feel a little stupid, even as his body continues to thrum with nerves. 

It's still weird when Steve walks into the kitchen. A part of Danny is instantly soothed to have him near, especially with how careful he's being. 

Hands raised, palms out to show Danny he's not holding anything, his stride abbreviated so he doesn't come up on Danny too quick, and even when he gets close, he stops at arms-length, leaving Danny plenty of room. 

(Although Danny doesn't miss the fact that he's a little trapped with the way Steve's facing the corner. Any way forward puts him at an intersection point with SuperSEAL.) 

"Hey, Danno. You doing alright?" He asks, quickly assessing him visually. His gaze stops in a few places, as if noting the sweat beading Danny's brow, the hard swallow, the locked grip he has on the drawer-handle. "What's going on? Is it Wo Fat?" 

Damn, Danny winces. Because, compared to real danger, his reaction right now is ridiculous. In his own head, it barely makes any sense. 

"No, it's nothing serious." 

"Nothing serious," Steve repeats, eyebrows high with doubt. That doubt is exacerbated further when Danny flinches when Steve reaches for him. 

"Tell me what the fuck is going on, Danny. Now," Steve orders in a mission critical voice. 

"Is Doris around?" Danny asks, because he hasn't seen her, but it's not like he checked the house. This is not a conversation he wants anyone else privy to. Fuck, he doesn't even know how he's going to explain all the shit in his head to Steve. 

"No, I saw her this morning before my swim. She let me know she's rented a house a few streets down. Why? Does this have something to do with her?" 

Danny doesn't really know where to start and maybe Steve has a point about his explanations because he blurts out, "Chicken salad." 

Steve comes up short on that one. He seems to have no clue how to take their agreed safe word and fit it into the current context. "I'm going to need a little bit more than that, Danno. Did Doris say something to you, or –" 

"No, I mean about the lip-biting." 

Steve snorts. "Uh-uh, no way are you getting out of it so easy. Especially since you decided to tease me at work," he says, reaching for one of his cargo pants pockets. 

Danny flinches harder. "What the fuck? That's not how a safe word works! I'm saying I can't do this!" 

"Sure, but you can't just use it for anything. I mean, hell, Danny, you don't even know what – " 

"It doesn't matter!" Danny waves sharply. "I just can't, Steve, okay? I would've told you sooner, but I honestly didn't know I had this aversion until I started thinking about it. I can make it up to you – take on all the chores for a month, or something – but this is a hard line for me. I can't do punishment sex." 

There's a silent moment where Steve just blinks, like a machine during reboot. No one's home. He's so blind-sided that it takes him a moment to connect the pieces. And when he gets there, his face actually goes pale. "You thought...what?! What the hell is punishment sex? How can sex even be a punishment? By definition, it's supposed to be the exact opposite." 

Beginning to feel a little calmer as Steve's hands cross over his chest, Danny quirks an eyebrow. Is Steve waiting for an answer? 

"No, seriously, I want to know. What exactly were you imagining? Because you looked fucking petrified when I walked in, Danny. Of me. Your partner. The guy you trust with your life." 

"I... overreacted. Of course I trust you. It's just that it's new ground we're covering and I wanted to make sure I got across just how much I couldn't do punishment sex. In case you were more pissed about the lip-biting than I realized." 

Steve's on Aneurysm face, with a dash of Deeply Confused. "I still don't understand what you were expecting. I caught you purposely biting your lip after warning you there'd be consequences if you used it against me. And you thought...that the punishment would be sex? How is that supposed to discourage anything?" 

Danny scratches his head, uncomfortable. "Well, it's not sex in and of itself. It's the type of sex that would discourage the lip-biting." 

"And the sex would be bad enough that you'd actively seek to avoid it? That you looked scared stiff when I walked into the room? Because that seems like a good deterrent to you? Make you afraid of having sex with me? Danny, that's rape." 

"You warned me," Danny offers, by way of explanation, but his expression is probably weird. He can't help the way his teeth bare in a half-snarl, half-cringe. Also, he's not sure what he's defending. Even he agrees that it wasn't a sober thought process that brought him to his predictions. 

"Geezus, you worry me sometimes, Danno. What the fuck?" Steve rakes his fingers through his hair. 

"Well, you wanted open communication. So, this is me telling you that I can't deal. That I love the things we do together, but associating punishment with sex is a no-go for me. This is me calling Chicken Salad. Although, it sounds like this whole conversation is irrelevant, if you weren't intending to –" Danny can't even finish the sentence, because the phrase 'punish with sex' does sound nutty. But don't people do that? Isn't that a thing? 

Steve leans back against the counter, arms still crossed. "The bigger problem, Danny, is that you thought I would rape you." 

"I didn't think that. It's not like I thought you wouldn't stop if I asked you to." 

"Okay, then what did you think? And, please, for once, Danny, I need you to be descriptive. What exactly is punishment sex?" 

Uncomfortable, Danny scrubs his hands over his face. "It's exactly what it sounds like. Sex that's meant to disincentivize a particular behavior." 

"I need specifics. What's on that list? What were you picturing that sex would be like? What did it include? This is important, Danny. I need to know so that I don't do it." 

"It's not really the specifics, though. By itself, I don't mind things like..." Danny winces, not really enthused about saying it all out loud. 

Nostrils flaring, Steve looks ready to throttle him. "Until you give me a list, we're not having sex again. There's no way I'm going to take guesses when there's so much on the line. If I have to live with you for 20 years and never touch you again, I'll deal Danny. I promise." And he seems set to walk away. Probably off to run or do laps in the ocean. 

"Okay, wait. Fine, a list. I don't mind...handcuffs, and ties as blindfolds, and...gags...and, just, etc. Okay? Look, it's easier for me to identify what I absolutely cannot tolerate, won't ever want to try. Things like caning or belting? Out. Scatology? Out. I'm not interested in breath play. I don't like choking on purpose. Or blood play. I mean, we've been to crime scenes of these bottom-of-the-rabbit-hole sex antics gone wrong. If you want an answer about something specific, then ask? But, fuck, Steve, I won't always know the answer, which is the main reason we have a safe word in the first place. So that we can try the maybe's together." 

"That's all good, Danny. But you're still avoiding the question. What were you picturing I'd do to you for the lip-biting?" Steve grinds out, frustrated. 

For once, he's getting a taste of his own medicine. It's exactly the way Danny's felt every time he's tried to get Steve to talk about something personal. 

"Like I said, it's not what I thought you'd do, but the context you'd do it in. I thought...Look, I don't like patronization. I'm an adult and my father's still around to give me his opinion on things, but I won't always listen to him. I'm my own man and I'd rather make a bad judgement call of my own volition than blindly do what someone told me to do." 

Rubbing the furrow between his brows, Steve apparently decides he's going to have to narrow in at Danny's point or else really go 20 years without sex. "Okay," he says, closing his eyes in concentration, "so you mentioned things to do with bondage, and the gag in particular made you hesitate. You were worried I'd cut off your verbal communication and that you'd be too tied up and disoriented to escape?" He tries, opening one eye to check with Danny's expression. 

With a sigh, Danny decides this is better than having to say it himself. Nodding, he waves Steve on to his next conclusion. 

"Ok, we're getting somewhere. So, you were afraid you'd have no way to get across that you didn't want to continue. Then, you went on a rant about having a father and making your own decisions...but, you started with patronizing, which you've accused me of being a number of times. You thought I'd give you a speech?" Steve doesn't think he's right and Danny confirms it. 

"Think caning, but less," Danny says. 

"Spanking?" 

Danny can't help the cringe. He hates that word. Viscerally. 

"Wow, that reaction. Danny, it's okay not to want –" 

"It's not the action in itself I have a problem with," Danny stops him. "I don't know. I understand the concept. Pain lights up nerves and releases endorphins. And that pain would probably be mild, since there's an assemblage of gelatinous flesh concentrated in the flank area of the human body." 

Steve's briefly amused at the high school-textbook-appropriate description of spanking. 

"What I am not, in any way, shape or form, okay with is the context it usually comes up in. I've taken enough shit in my life for being short, or a haole, or a skater degenerate, or Jersey trash. I don't need degradation from the person I'm dating. I'm 100% against humiliation. I mean, why do you think I punched you that first day we met? Thankfully, as far as our sexual encounters up till this point, you've gone in the opposite direction. Leaning towards excessive compliments and praise, but if a consequence context was going to be brought up, then I was afraid the sum total would be me, being degraded through sexual punishment that would include an inability to get free or communicate a desire to stop." 

Steve's grip is so tight where he's clutching his upper arms in the cross, he's going to have bruises. His frame is vibrating and he's staring at Danny with furious eyes. "See, that, Danny? That sounds like a description of rape," he says, voice tightly leashed so that it comes out low. 

Danny's not sure what to say to that. "I panicked?" He tries, because it's true. "Enough that I felt the need to have this conversation as soon as possible. Just in case...um..." 

Steve's staring at him wide-eyed. "There's more?! Go on, Danny, finish the thought. Just in case what?" 

"Just in case you...tried to surprise me with it." 

"Surprise you? Like, if the first thing I did as we crossed the threshold into our house – our sanctum from the outside world – was to reach for a gag, come up behind you with the handcuffs, and fold you, bare-assed, over my lap? Fuck, Danny, you thought I was going to attack you?! On top of everything else?! " 

Scratching the side of his nose, Danny mumbles, "You're very good at incapacitating people." 

Steve's taking deep, calming breaths as he rubs the goosebumps away on his arms. "Okay...It's okay...Fuck, just a miscommunication," Steve's muttering, like he's trying to placate himself. With a sharp, final breath, apparently SuperSEAL's got a solution. "Seems like we need to set expectations." 

Expectations? Well, at least it sounds more promising than ground rules. 

"But first, I want you to know I'm proud of you for going this route. Opening a dialogue. That was good. I think we're getting better at talking to each other about uncomfortable things." 

Weird. 

So fucking weird to hear Steve say that. 

So fucking weird for Steve to be the one encouraging open dialog. 

Praising it. 

The Steve he'd known for over a decade would have laughed through that sentence. He wants to ask, why are you like this? Is it because they're both invested in having good sex and Danny's hang-ups have to be talked through? Is it Doris being kinder, motherly, less defensive? Is it the promise of Charlie entering their lives? Is it Wo Fat being in jail? Is this who Steve would've been with just a few good coin tosses from Fate? 

"Now, expectations. Danny, if I ever gag you, I will tell you ahead of time exactly what's going to follow. There is never going to be a time where I put you in a position where you can't communicate with me. I just can't do that, on a personal level. If I ever tie you to something, it'll be with a knot you know how to get out of and with a material that, with enough effort, you could rip. No handcuffs. Not even the fluffy ones. We're Five-0. If anyone ever comes in while we're having sex and shoots me in the back, you have to be able to use me for cover and reach for the side table for the gun." 

Danny gapes at him. "What the hell? Why is that even a scenario that pops into your head?" 

"Why did you think I'd rape you for biting your lip?" Steve counters. 

Ah, hang-ups and issues. 

"And I'm not into humiliating my partner. I feel better when you feel better. I like seeing you confident and cheerful and proud. If there's any point where I do something that makes you feel degraded, or cheapened, or looked down on, something's gone wrong. I'm interested in being your life preserver, Danno, not your anchor." 

"Ocean metaphors, Steven?" Danny aims and falls short of a tease. Since it doesn't improve the mood, Danny decides a relevant redirect would be more successful. He asks, "So, what are your plans for lip-biting retrubution?" 

Reaching into his pocket, Steve pulls out a thin, plastic tube that takes a minute for Danny to recognize. "You're going to be wearing this slick, greasy lip balm every day for a week," he says, handing over the tube. "Starting now." 

"You bought me chap stick? That's so...mild." 

Shoulders loosening just a tad, Steve finally, finally fucking grins. "Sure, Danno, it's just chap stick." 

SuperSEAL watches him apply it and immediately Danny realizes why the fucker is smirking. 

Fuck. 

Trying to ensure they don't rub together, Danny puckers and parts his greasy, slimy, heavily moisturized lips. Fuck it's disgusting. It smells like latex and it prickles gently. And, as he stands there, one minute, two minutes, three minutes...the balm doesn't seem to get any drier. 

And all the while, Steve's silently shaking with laughter. 

Still trying to keep his lips parted and immobile, Danny says, "Aye...hhhate...yooo," before he resorts to fanning them. 

Damn crafty SuperSEAL. 

 

 

 

It's almost time to start getting ready for bed when Danny's phone rings. 

Rings. 

It doesn't play any of the ringtones for people he knows. 

He picks up with "Detective Williams speaking." 

"The exchange takes place tomorrow," an electronic voice responds woodenly, before it rattles off an address in Waimanalo. "Be there at 8PM sharp." And then there's a click as the person on the other end terminates the call. 

Fucking great. 

This is where the Wo Fat saga really begins.

**Author's Note:**

> I will be out of the country for a while. Not sure how that will influence writing time frames, etc. I'm not even sure if I'll have internet at any point, so I may not be able to post until I get back. 
> 
> Also, for anyone who'd like to know, at least 2 parts left for certain. After that, nobody knows...
> 
> Cheers


End file.
